Letter 38

(WARNING! graphic photos in post)

Dear Lincoln,
We shared an ambulance ride yesterday. The ride itself wasn't that bad; it's the before and after events that were a bit difficult. You, Shea and myself were beginning our bed time routine with some tickle torturing (Normally this is Papa's pleasure, but I keep the tradition alive on Monday and Wednesdays when Papa is in class at Marquette). Shea was squealing as she attempted to climb up the couch away from "the claw". You, in a deep cackle, ran away from me and threw yourself against the back of the couch. I've seen this happen again and again. Usually, you fall to the side into a pile of pillows. Other times you fall into my lap, and sometimes, you even fall off the couch. I knew none of those things happened when I turned my back to you and grabbed Shea. I heard this deafening crack and cringed. You had hit your head on the table. I held my breath and forced my head to turn in your direction. I heard your cry before I saw your face. Then I saw blood. Nothing could have prepared me for your face and your obvious fear. I grabbed Shea and put her on the floor and then scooped you into my arms and ran to the kitchen. The blood had already soaked your eyebrows and was flowing from a deep gash. Shea cried. You cried. I repeated over and over that it was going to be okay. I repeated it over and over because I needed the convincing.
I grabbed a towel and held it to your temple. I frantically tried to call 9-1-1. I knew you needed stitches and that we had to get to a hospital asap. Your crying continued and my panicky fingers made it difficult for me to make the call (stupid new phone!) but eventually I was telling a dispatcher of our situation. Within minutes rescue had arrived and the lights on all the trucks halted your crying. I called Grandma O to follow me to Aurora with Shea and asked Grandmama and Master Gramps to meet us there. You went easily into the hands of the EMT's and they stopped the bleeding and loaded you into the "cool truck". I filled my Mary Poppins bag with any magical thing I could, dressed Shea and then handed her off to GrandmaO as she pulled in.
When I stepped into the ambulance, you had been given stuffed animals and were acquainting yourself with the truck.

When we got to the hospital the nurses did their thing and you did yours: act adorable while they talked to you and scream when they tried to touch you.

Even I had a difficult time trying to get you to calm down. We looked at books, sang songs, ate M&Ms and Skittles, but it was only after I kicked everyone out and we worked on Bible verses that you regained composure.
When they put on your wrist band with your information you played with it and I used it to make small talk. When I asked you what it said, you told me it was for Monkey Joes! HA! Ironic. The only association you have with wristbands is jumping around.

When the doc came in, he said you were going to need 4 stitches. Yeah right. You won't let someone come near you with a pair of scissors for a haircut... there was no way that was going to happen unless they literally knocked you out. He looked at the gouge again, nodded and then requested Dermabond (the glue) to be brought in.
After struggling to keep an anesthetic on your gaping cut, and then struggling to bear hug you still while the doctor glued you shut, I was quite exhausted! The nurse offered you a popsicle for being so good and I laughed at how relative that term is. We walked out of your hospital room and into the waiting room. Just like that. A rite of passage complete.

Your Papa and I spent a little more time with you that night saying prayers before putting you to bed. I don't think we've ever felt more grateful for you.
As I write this, I'm overwhelmed with how much I love you!

(Lincoln this morning)

Next time we're tickling and "splitting our sides" let's not "split" anything else, okay sweetie.
I love you!