Sometimes things happen and afterward you run the events through your head over and over and wish you had done it differently. That’s how it’s been for me. Over and over again I see G laying there not moving and barely breathing, and I wish I had said “no” or “sure, but then get right down”.
Michael had to climb up into the new roof to run some lights, and of course G wanted to come along. He’s loves following his daddy everywhere. We usually let G do things, most things, with our guidance. I always buy into the policy that he’ll learn best by trying…you can’t learn how to walk without falling. He has a knife, a dull knife, but still a knife. He lights the trash pile with guidance. He climbs anything. He swims. This time he wanted to climb about 10 feet up and walk in the rafters. Of course the little voice in my head said no. But I let him.
I know the mothers are probably thinking, “oh no she didn’t” with a finger shake.
Oh yes I did, and then I went and ate some lunch. In the midst of eating lunch I heard Michael yell, then the crunch of plywood, and then the fall. I ran. I rounded the corner and there was G curled on his side, eyes closed, quiet. I rolled him over and he still didn’t open his eyes for several heartbeats. When he did he blinked at me, not focusing, not breathing. Then finally he started moaning and then crying. Michael picked him up, supporting his neck, and brought him to our bed.
At the time there were about ten people in our house. Mama Mince stood there crying and crying. Opa something or other stood there crying. Papa Mince kept shaking his head like he wanted to cry. Everyone else stood around with their mouths open.
We all moved into the bedroom and I curled up next to G checking him over and lightly rubbing him, while praying over him. Mama Mince rubbed his legs too. G started apologizing over and over and over again in a high, hard to breathe voice. I just wished he would stop. It wasn’t him I was mad at. I was just sick that I had said yes.
We checked his limbs, his pupils, got out our stethoscope and listened for the whistle of punctured lungs. Nothing. A few scratches. I called our nurse friend and she said that we needed to be careful of internal bleeding or possible bleeding on the brain. She recommended that we bring him back to the bigger town to get an X-Ray and MRI. We made the agonizing decision to watch him here. And our friends prepared the helicopter just in case.
We kept him awake for four hours. I got really mad when Michael let him fall asleep for a couple of minutes before the four hours were up.
I realized I was a wreck so we took him to the local doctor at the clinic. He checked G over, spoke to him in English, and said that there was really nothing wrong. We could give him pain medicine for the sore muscles and antibiotics for the scrapes. Or we could wait on the antibiotics, up to us. That clinched it, I liked this guy. Most all doctors prescribe antibiotics for everything all the time just as a precaution. I think its dangerous. So I figure the doctors knows something if they don’t give antibiotics right away as a rote reflex.
Then we took G home and let him sleep. When he woke up he was still lucid, and still no swelling or bruises, but very very sore and walking like an old man. So we took him to the river and let him soak in the cold water. Afterwards he could walk, he could laugh, he was almost normal. And he asked if it was all a dream.
Every day he has some comment…asking it it was a dream, or telling a story of a boy who falls through the roof, or yesterday, “why did I sleep after I fell?” To which I didn’t really know what to say. “Sometimes its because your brain has been hurt, thats why we kept shining the flashlight in your eyes, or sometimes its just the way your body reacts to being hurt.”
And, no he’s not allowed to climb up to the roof ever again. Well at least as long as I’m his boss. Thanks for always remembering us before our Father, I know it makes a world of difference.