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There I was, knee-deep in my element. Answering work e-mails, editing posts, watching whitehouse.gov's live stream of the Health Care Summit at Blair House. I was screaming at my screen, tweet cheering the Dems and tweet jeering the GOP ... sitting in my pjs, loving life.
Then the phone rang.
Mrs. Vest this is N, the school nurse. Your son is in my office with an abnormal bloody nose, can you come right away?
The rest is kind of a blur. The kind of blur a parent gets when you get a call you don't exactly understand but know your child needs you NOW.
My first reaction was to grab my wallet and keys and run, and then I realized I wasn't dressed. I threw on clothes while thinking
bloody nose?
wait ... why am I rushing to school for a bloody nose?
abnormal?
did she say clots?
Clothes on, I grabbed my wallet and keys, typed an incoherent message to my work colleagues (I think it said something like "school called bloody nose clots jack running") and bolted out the door.
I called my husband on the way, said I would call when I knew more, and then maybe broke several laws driving from my street to my son's school -- which I have now deemed too far away.
I might have passed a California Highway Patrol cruiser along the way, and I might have been a)on the phone and b)driving like a bat out of hell and c)thinking "Fucking Chase Me Copper -- I'll pull into the school parking lot, and you can ticket me as I run to my kid." I swear to you I made eye contact with the officer behind the wheel, and it was the "I'm a mom on a MISSION DO NOT MESS WITH ME IN THIS MINIVAN" look. It worked. I blew past him, and he stayed right there putzing along while the drivers around me were clearly doing the "OMG is that woman insane there is a COP RIGHT THERE" thing.
I parked at the school and then did the run/walk but don't really run walky thing to the door thinking the entire time "calm down, she said bloody nose ... but what nurse calls for a bloody nose???"
And there was my boy. Ice pack on face and blood everywhere.
He seemed OK. He was chatty as hell about his day. The nurse and teacher told me of the students finding him bleeding all over his sandwich at lunch, he didn't say he hit his head. But there were clots and blood from both nostrils, from his mouth -- it was so overwhelming.
Decisions were made and off we went to lay on the couch for the day. Thinking he had a bad bloody nose and wanting him to at least be cleaned up, it seemed sane to just bring him home.
Except a funny thing happened on the way to our house. Upon reliving his harrowing tale of bloody nose horror ... my first grader's speech began to slur.
Without even contemplating I put on my left blinker, darted across two lanes, and headed straight for the local ER. I kept talking to him. He kept drifting in and out of making sense. He was telling me now he did bump heads with someone. But his story kept changing. He was confused.
My heart racing, I drove the mile to our local hospital -- it seemed like 20 -- and my questions to the backseat were resulting in answers like "soffa hitta hwead."
Left turn signal. Lane change. Park. Carry child into ER. Again the look in my eyes paid off and my quick explanation and fast signature had us back and in a bed in under five minutes. The doctor was there not two minutes later.
Eyes OK. Nose OK. CAT scan shows no bleeding. No fracture. Diagnosis = concussion.
Now here's where I finally exhale. Not entirely, mind you. But I exhale, and I look around. Now I am actually capable of looking around.
It turns out this place is filled with people and doctors and nurses and moaning and IVs and hustle and bustle. Things you don't see until you exhale.
Two beds
