When Kids Get Hurt
March 25, 2011, By Craig J. Heimbuch 4 comments
The panic set in when I got the interstate.
Up to that moment - for the previous ten minutes or so - I had been calm, orderly, methodical. I got the call from my wife and my crisis management mode kicked right in. Pack up my computer. Tell someone at work. Get out the back door. It wasn't until I merged on the freeway - when I was alone in my car with nothing to do but drive - that I began to get worried.
I don't normally take calls from my wife when I'm in a meeting. We have a code worked out. If it's not that important, she'll leave me a message. If it's urgent, she calls back until I pick up. It works. Only this morning, I hit the wrong button and answered the first time instead of making her call back. I could hear her saying, "Craig! Craig! Hello!" before I got the phone to my ear. I stepped away from the staff meeting and into another room. She sounded panicked. Frantic. She wasn't yelling, exactly, but her usually calm and casual demeanor was certainly - and noticibly- absent.
"I need you. Dylan hit his head at school and they think he needs to go to the emergency room."
The last two words, those are what did it. Those were all I needed to hear to go from my usual "I'm in a meeting. Can I call you back?" to fixer. I've talked to quite a few dads and they all describe the same sort of odd clarity, a calm that rushes over them when presented with a problem to solve. I'm sure moms feel the same thing, but I've never thought to ask. Your thoughts become lucid. Distractions are gone. Without trying, you triage. You make decisions based on a priority rating so immediate and so clear, like a computer program, but without buffering or lags. You glide, effortless, as long as you are moving.
But then, you sit and the situation becomes reality.
My hands began to tremble. My stomach twisted. I began thinking of everything that could happen. Worry and anxiety came in the form of questions. Concussion? What if there was some sort of internal bleeding? Are we talking about brain damage?
But those thoughts were tempered - or at least challenged - by my logical side. The logical side presents itself as statements. He just bumped his head. The school is being overly cautious by calling my wife. He's hit his head before. He's a tough kid. Nothing's going to be wrong with him.
These conflicting thoughts sat on my shoulders like and angel and a devil. Both were whispering and that back-and-forth made the situation worse. It made me more anxious. The 25 mile drive to the hospital seemed to evaporate and I was barely conscious of being behind the wheel, so consumed was I with inner debate.
I was just about to exit the freeway when my phone rang. It was my wife. She started with an apology this time.
Dylan was fine and I, for a moment was relieved, though I went back into the processing mode. I asked questions - What happened? What did the doctor say? How is he behaving? I was looking for data, information to synthesize into a clearer narrative. We arranged to meet at McDonald's for lunch. Not my preference, but they have a playground.
I hugged Dylan for whole minutes. And his eyes were beaming. He just wanted to play. He and Jack, our oldest child, went up the stairs of the playground in pursuit of the slide. Near the top, on a landing, Dylan called down to me. I don't know if it was the look on my face or the fact that I seemed upset, but my little boy smiled, waved and said, "Daddy, I'm okay." Jack hugged him and the sight put tears in my eyes.
Relief.
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