We were back at our favourite hang-out: Children's Hospital ER. This was our first visit due to allegedly detrimental parenting. I say allegedly because I vehemently maintain we did NOT cause (nor fail to prevent) the reason for our visit.
Noah did was most pre-schoolers will do at some point; fall down and bonk his head. More accurately, his face was involved, but the results were scary enough to warrant another pilgrimage to our favourite Emergency Room.
I'd come in late from a baby shower, and Noah heard my key in the door. He instantly sprang to consciousness. I tossed my heels in the closet, hung my coat up and donned my mommy cape. Then I went to tuck him in.
After a brief cuddle I told him to hop into bed. Which he attempted. Except that he slipped on the body pillow we stash next to his bed (lest he fall out and hit his head - oh the irony!) and he did a perfect face plant onto the wooden bed frame.
I knew it was bad because he didn't cry. He just held his breath for a few seconds before letting out a pitiful howl. I fumbled for the light switch and expected to see blood everywhere or a dangling eyeball.
But I didn't see anything gory. Luckily, the screaming began and I carried Noah out in the kitchen for a full assessment. We could see the bruise forming, and thought we'd lucked out... but then we got The Announcement:
"Mommy! I'm going to BARF!" Which, in true Noah style, he promptly did. Everywhere. And then we noticed the dozens of burst capillaries all over his face.
So... off we went to Children's. Are we neurotic, overly cautious parents? Perhaps. But when your child bumps his face and then barfs, the natural worry is that he's suffered a concussion. I wasn't about to start taking chances with our little man. (He was fine, actually. But we're glad we got him checked out.)
On the drive in, it crossed my mind that perhaps the staff would suspect us of hitting Noah or somehow causing his injury. That fear was confirmed in subtle ways.
I was asked six or seven times (by various hospital staff) how the accident occurred. They asked verification questions that slightly altered my story to check and see if there were any inconsistencies. They even went so far as to ask Noah directly to explain how he got hurt. Thankfully, he's articulate and capable of accurate recollection. (He even quoted me directly, duplicating my tone of voice with my specific instructions about how exactly I'd like him to get to bed.)
I was really glad for this vigilance. They didn't have to bother, did they? With two hours waits and children much sicker than our son, it would have been easy to process him as fast as possible and move on to the next sick or injured child.
They could have bought into the myth that normal looking, middle class people don't hurt their kids. (That's something only drug addicted persons, or the mentally ill are capable of, isn't it? And all of them are poor or appear so, aren't they?) But the well-trained hospital staff know better, thankfully. Everyone is a suspect, and that's how it should be.
Our single-child household looked fairly comfortable in the waiting room. We didn't scream "neglect" or "abuse" (unless dragging your child out in his PJs at 2 am is considered abusive). I still had my dress clothes on from my night out, and Kevin looked presentable, even though I wondered aloud why he wore shorts and a t-shirt in November.
I was glad the cop in the waiting room didn't give us a break, either. She was there for another purpose - she already had her notepad out when we arrived. But she kept an eye on us that night as soon as she saw us walk in with our toddler and his bruised face.
I'm so thankful for her wordless accusation. In the adoption world, there are countless resilient children who started out in life suffering from abuse and neglect. Most came to be adopted thanks to the care and concern of teachers, social workers, neighbours, extended family - and yes, medical staff and emergency responders who keep an accusatory eye out for the little ones they spend their life caring for.
Thank you for thinking I'm abusive. Honestly, thank you. It reassures me you are looking out for all this city's children, That warms my heart even while you're determining if I even have one.
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