Childhood offers many firsts: First word. First time using the potty. First time getting dressed all by yourself. First stitches…
Monday was supposed to be a fresh start. My family of four had battled a stomach bug for over a week, and we were ready to get back to our version of normal. Bananas–Rice–Applesauce–Toast. The BRAT diet starts to lose its appeal 10 days in, and the kids were ready for real food and feeling better.
When my husband came up on caller ID at work on Monday, I knew it must be about the kids–he never calls my desk phone. It was 9:45 in the morning and our two-year-old, Truett, had tripped and fallen face first onto a toy truck at daycare. He had a split lip and our caregiver, a mother herself, was concerned that he needed stitches.
A hasty office exit, a speedy drive and what felt like 5,000 miles later, I was devastated to discover that it was worse than I expected. My sweet boy had an X-shaped cut extending above his upper lip, leaving a ragged wound on his mouth and face.
I called the pediatrician, my mother, my husband and most importantly, I called on God. I can sing & soothe, kiss & hug with the best of ‘em, but I can’t prevent disaster, and I can’t always fix what is broken for my children.
The nature of Truett’s cut was beyond what the pediatrician was comfortable with, and we were referred to the pediatric ER. Several hours, several medications and several stitches later, he was put back together. Truett, who is new-to-two and doesn’t talk much yet, followed every instruction the doctor gave and was a real trooper. He is my hero, but it was prayer that helped my mom-heart that day.
God, thank you for the steady hands of the ER pediatrician who stitched up my baby boy, and thank you for giving me strength in a difficult moment. Amen.
Written by Liz Sagaser
