WhitneyTo Be or Not To Be a Mother -Part Three
May 18th 2007 19:57
The day after the accident I was one open oozing mess from my right eye to my chin, from the left-side of my neck to my breast and from the middle of my left thigh to my knee. That morning my father came over to watch the kids (thank God) so I could go to the plastic surgeon to talk about my wound care without having to use all my energy to concentrate on their care (the hospital had told me this was very important to minimize serious infection). I would be going to the doctor alone since my husband didn’t offer to take off from work and I didn’t think I had the right to ask him to.
Anyway, to segue off the topic for a minute. I chose this particular group of plastic surgeons because a year before they had stitched up Josh after he slit his eyelid open. You see when he was less than two years old my sister mentioned that a well-respected nursery school in our area was looking to add a toddler program (age 2). And knowing how stressed out I was she had suggested I look into it. So I did. And despite the fact that Josh was two months shy of two years old they assured me he’d be a perfect fit for the program. And since he loved playing around (not with) kids and I needed a break from him, I said o.k. The thing I didn’t know – until it was too late- was that they placed him in this experimental class that was a mixture of ages 2,3 and 4 year olds. How did I finally find this out? Well one day I went to pick him up after school and his entire eyelid was slashed open. Apparently, he had fallen into a metal chair when no one was watching (and why would they when so many of the kids were older in the class and didn’t require as much attention as my not quite two year old).
One look at him and I was a wreck. I tried not to cry. On the other hand the women in charge didn’t seem very upset. I mean they hadn’t even bothered to call me when it happened. Instead they waited until I picked him up. I was so mad but I didn’t say anything. Why? Why didn’t I open my mouth and tell them off? Why was I so afraid of everyone else, but no one seemed a bit afraid of me?
Well I rushed him back to the house and called the pediatrician who told me to take him to the emergency room. I didn’t ask and my husband didn’t offer to leave work to come along so my father came along to help. He had to hold Josh down until they put him in this papoose so he wouldn’t move and ruin the stitches.
Bottom line? A year later you could barely make out Josh’s scar. And the slash had been huge. So I scheduled an appointment with another doctor in the group (the one that had worked on Josh was unavailable) and left that morning thinking that everything was going to be just fine. But like everything else in my life, it wasn’t…
Anyway, to segue off the topic for a minute. I chose this particular group of plastic surgeons because a year before they had stitched up Josh after he slit his eyelid open. You see when he was less than two years old my sister mentioned that a well-respected nursery school in our area was looking to add a toddler program (age 2). And knowing how stressed out I was she had suggested I look into it. So I did. And despite the fact that Josh was two months shy of two years old they assured me he’d be a perfect fit for the program. And since he loved playing around (not with) kids and I needed a break from him, I said o.k. The thing I didn’t know – until it was too late- was that they placed him in this experimental class that was a mixture of ages 2,3 and 4 year olds. How did I finally find this out? Well one day I went to pick him up after school and his entire eyelid was slashed open. Apparently, he had fallen into a metal chair when no one was watching (and why would they when so many of the kids were older in the class and didn’t require as much attention as my not quite two year old).
One look at him and I was a wreck. I tried not to cry. On the other hand the women in charge didn’t seem very upset. I mean they hadn’t even bothered to call me when it happened. Instead they waited until I picked him up. I was so mad but I didn’t say anything. Why? Why didn’t I open my mouth and tell them off? Why was I so afraid of everyone else, but no one seemed a bit afraid of me?
Well I rushed him back to the house and called the pediatrician who told me to take him to the emergency room. I didn’t ask and my husband didn’t offer to leave work to come along so my father came along to help. He had to hold Josh down until they put him in this papoose so he wouldn’t move and ruin the stitches.
Bottom line? A year later you could barely make out Josh’s scar. And the slash had been huge. So I scheduled an appointment with another doctor in the group (the one that had worked on Josh was unavailable) and left that morning thinking that everything was going to be just fine. But like everything else in my life, it wasn’t…
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