Yesterday was a particularly rough day for my boy Henry. There were some really great portions but the part we thought was going to be the worst part, late in the day, ended up not really being the worst which makes for an intense evening.
Backing up: I decided to drag us all to last night’s basketball game because it was just the one game for us, which was great. One game is fun! It’s practically a vacation.
And it all worked out wonderfully well — the littles didn’t even have to sit in the stands the whole time thanks to a long carpeted hallway just outside the gymnasium. They spent a full hour running and playing and a good time was had by all.
As we were heading to the van at the end of the evening, Henry was walking on a three foot ledge by the parking lot and slipped when trying to get down. It was dark and I didn’t see it, but his wounds show he likely landed on his knee hard and then his head. He had a scratch-covered goose egg on his forehead and scraped up hands and knees. Oh how he cried! Friends still loading up their own children heard his screams and came running and that five-second span in between hearing the wails and assessing the damage is always just slightly less than my heart can physically handle. As in, one more millimeter and I promise I would have passed out.
Your grace is enough, Lord, but why must we always be testing that theory?
So we rode home with one very sad and exhausted little boy who could not get on top of his pain management. At one point I decided to teach him how to Lamaze breathe, mostly to get his mind off his suffering but really to help me feel like I was doing something to help. By this point I could tell that the cries were fueled more by fatigue and less by massive internal bleeding, though I really had to convince myself of that fact.
We got home and oh, important part of the story: Henry has some outrageous rash on his hindquarters (don’t tell him I told you) which my friend Dr. Bill and other friend Susie, Nurse Practitioner, were inspecting for me moments before we were heading out to the van with a detour on the parking lot concrete. So Paul was on his way to the drug store to get the proper cream, the stuff I’d been using all week was not doing the trick.
We arrived home and Paul walked in shortly after me, he with the important medicine, me with the exhausted, scraped up little boy. We coated his rash, bandaged his knee, Motrin’ed up his being and said many prayers for peace and healing and deep, deeeeeeep sleep.
A few minutes after tucking him in, Henry was back downstairs in a fit of agony. The itching. We had not gotten on top of it. So I got another cream, this one for the itching, and layered another coat. And we waited a few minutes to let things set.
Henry started walking off toward his room and without thinking, reached his hands back to his back and began to furiously attack.
“OOOOwwwww,” he screamed in reactive agony, now undeniably beyond the pale with exhaustion and passion, “I did NOT SEEEEE that coming!”
Oh his pain!
We finally settled him down and when I went by the school to check on him today he was calm and rested and handling the day well. Tonight: early bedtime, with a side of Aveeno.