This morning began at like 2am. Ezra was up A LOT in the night, not throwing up thank goodness, but still, up, fevered and miserable.
So, before six, when I started hearing little people move about, I was sad.
I sent them down to eat their cereal, and watch their PBS and I dozed and dreamed those bizarre dreams you dream when you're not really asleep.
And I heard Henry say, "OH, Spencer! That is SO STUCK! YOU GOT THE WRENCH STUCK ON YOUR FINGER!"
I knew that the course of my day had been decided without my consent.
Here's the thing: That stupid little wrench has been the bane of my existence for days. I take it away, they find it, and on it goes. I hide it, they find it.
I called Spencer up, trying to remain calm. However, when he appeared in my room, and sheepishly showed me his predicament, I knew we were screwed. The little nut-tightening end of the small wrench was indeed stuck on his finger. He'd clearly been trying to get it off for a while because the finger was already losing color and quite swollen.
I took him downstairs trying not to lose it entirely, and coconut-oiled his finger. NOTHING. It wouldn't budge.
Derek tried ice cold water. Nothing.
I got dressed, found the insurance cards and Spencer's shoes.
Derek tried taping his finger and sliding it off.
I found my purse and my keys.
I called it.
"Get in the car." I said. I was angry. Mostly I was angry because I was worried sick. His finger looked bad. And I was frustrated because the only thing I could think to do was take him to the ER.
Spencer cried. I strapped him in. "I just can't believe this Spencer! Honestly!" I huffed.
And we drove in utter and complete silence to the ER. My poor boy. I imagine the ride was awful and the fright of "What are they going to do to me?" was torturing him every minute. I drove.
We arrived at the perfectly deserted ER. At the Triage window, the kind receptionist, who couldn't see my kid over the counter said, "And what are you here for today?"
I lifted up Spencer's wrench-finger and simply said, "We can't get it off."
"Oh my," said she. "I don't even know how to put that in the computer. Just a sec!" Within just a moment, it was in the computer, and we were getting him assessed.
By now, I was feeling rotten for getting angry, so a hug and a kiss and an apology was issued, and we went forward with hope that all 10 digits would make it out of this disaster.
The nurses were wonderful. Can I say that? They didn't give me a hard time. They didn't lecture my little buddy. They just saw we weren't messing around, and got right to work.
It took very tight binding of his finger, soap for lube, two nurses, a doctor and an emt, but they managed to twist it off his poor little pointer. He was SO brave. The nurses warned me, "When we get to the knuckle, it's going to hurt. He's going to cry." So we were both prepared.
Spencer, being ever stalwart and brave, did indeed cry out, but let them carry on, squeezing me and his new Blue Teddy the nice hospital staff had given him.
And can I just take a moment and say that I didn't know fingers could turn the colors his did and remain attached? It was horrifying. Gray, white, black, purple, HORRIBLE.
After what seemed to be an eternity but was really only about 3 minutes, he was free of the wrench.
The nurses rushed his poor abused finger over to the sink and rinsed it in cold water, and I texted Derek, "IT'S OFF!"
Amen. It's off.
They got my Spencer an ice pack for his finger, after noting just two little cuts (much better than it could have been), and loaded him up with a goody bag, told us to watch for bruising and more swelling and sent us on our way
All ten fingers came with us.
We learned a valuable lesson today. NO SHOVING THINGS WHERE THEY DON'T BELONG.
All in all, a morning for the record books.
And people wonder why my hair is turning grey.