I swear that drama follows me around like a damn shadow. And no, I am definitely not a drama queen. In fact, I rather like dull moments. Unfortunately, though, we don’t seem to have many of those around here, and this past weekend was certainly no exception. My son, God love his klutzy little soul, wound up making his SIXTH, yes, I said SIXTH, trip to the ER for stitches.
It was Sunday afternoon, and my husband was finally home after being gone for five days, so we decided to pack up the fam, goatdog included, and head over to the dog beach for a while. We hadn’t been there for more than five minutes before all hell broke loose. My son had climbed onto the long rock platform that separates the dog beach from the sailing beach, where he was planning to proudly whip out his peter and pee off the side. (You boys & your damn peters.) However, his foot landed wrong on the metal ridge along the edge, and his fourth toe was nearly sliced right off his left foot — we’re talkin’ right down to the freaking bone.
My husband just so happened to be standing there near him and saw the blood gushing out of his foot, so he scooped him up and ran through the sand carrying him. I knew that it was serious when the only laid back person in our parenting team was shouting that we needed to haul ass to the ER. After dropping the boys off at the hospital, the dog off at home, and the daughter off at the neighbor’s house, I zoomed back to find that my poor bleeding son was STILL sitting in the frickin’ waiting room. And let me tell ya, if looks could kill, that damn triage nurse would be six feet under right now cause this mama was P-I-S-S-E-D.
Over an hour had passed before someone FINALLY took us back to a room. And wouldn’t it just be our luck that the on-call staff was nothing short of an army of bafoons? I seriously almost asked the “nurse’s assistant” if I could take over when she proceeded to clean out my son’s foot for nearly 45 F’ING MINUTES. Shit, I can scrub down three gas station toilets faster than that. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, we then had to deal with Dr. McDumbass, the dipshit medical student on rotation, who had clearly NEVER even thread a needle, much less perform a suture on anyone with blood pumping through their veins. And even though Nurse Nitwit assured me that the numbing medication would still be in effect, it naturally was not, and my poor little dude could feel the needle going right into his toe. Talk about pure and utter agony. I cried right along with him as I fantasized about where I’d like to stick that flippin’ numbing needle.
Finally, more than three hours after we rolled into that cesspool of nastiness, we were discharged and sent on our way. And I must say that my little man took it all like a champ cause that kind of laceration would’ve brought even the toughest of the tough to his knees. My husband and I weren’t the only ones grateful to have him home though — his twin sister apparently felt like a part of her was missing while he was away as is evident in this get-well card she made for him:
When one of the Nucking Futs Family clan feels bad, it’s hard for any of us to feel very “goob”.
