Last Sunday, my husband had to head to New York for business, returning very late Monday evening. When he’s out of town, my entire working-mom schedule gets turned upside down, especially if my mom is not available to help me get the boys where they need to go.
So I dropped the boys off at camp Monday morning and arrived at work a bit later than my usual start time. That afternoon, I left work early to pick the boys up from camp. I rushed home, got them changed, and shoved half a PB & J sandwich down their throats so they wouldn’t pass out from hunger during football practice. I then spent a delightful summer evening sitting at a dusty football field, getting bitten by mosquitoes, and fighting with the folding chair that had some how gotten tangled up the last time it was used and jammed back into its carrying case.
About halfway through practice I received this text from my husband:
We had a bit of back in forth about his predicament, which was really annoying because I was kicking ass at Words with Friends and didn’t need the distraction:
I turned my attention back to Words with Friends. I looked up at one point and noticed my youngest son had been sitting out for a bunch of plays. I texted my husband:
Which resulted in this response:
So back to Words with Friends I went. But then one of the other mothers who was at practice remarked, “isn’t that your kid on the sideline doubled over in pain”. I looked up and sure enough, my youngest son Nick was sitting out and he was doubled over. I walked over to him and asked what happened. He told me that he had knocked helmets with another kid on a tackling drill and had a headache and his stomach hurt.
So to update my husband, I sent this:
Which prompted this:
At the end of practice, I texted my husband that things had gotten a little worse:
I answered his question about the block vs. tackle. I was skeptical about a possible concussion, because we had been down this road before with Nick:
We first arrived at urgent care around 8:35pm. As we checked in, there were parents with a three year old coming out of a treatment room who said to their daughter, “yes, honey, we know you are hungry. We’ve been here since 2 this afternoon.” I did my own bit of math based on what those parents said. I then applied my simple calculation to our situation. When I realized what our estimated time of departure from urgent care would be, this is pretty much what I did:
While we were waiting to be called back to be evaluated, two things happened. First, a couple arrived, which prompted this text to my husband:
She seemed pretty bad off, as the dish towel she had wrapped around her hand was starting show the blood that was seeping through. And then — not even two minutes later — a kid ran in with his dad. Both were out of breath and the kid had a towel wrapped around his finger. His dad tried to sound calm, but barely was able to choke out, “I think he may have severed his finger down to the bone.”
When I heard that, this was my poker face:
My kid might have a concussion, and (fuck my luck) two bleeders just arrived at urgent care? I turned to Nick and said, “blood trumps headache, kiddo. Settle in.”
I texted my husband to provide him an update:
We finally exited urgent care at just about midnight. Getting up at 5:00am and going to work the next day? Yeah, fuck that.
A kid that can’t watch TV, play on his iPod, play on his brother’s iPad, play the Xbox, or read for 4 days as part of the Rx for a possible concussion? Yeah, that’s a fucking nightmare.
Follow up visits and tests revealing my son had sustained a hard hit to the head but no concussion? What a fucking relief.