If you read “Sharing with Cassandra” last week, you know that I attended sons number three and four’s school and had lunch with them.
You also know that one of the students was injured, and I found out that it was my son, son number four, the kindergartner.
Well, as the playground attendant approached me with my sons’ crying –
Yes, I said sons’, because the older son number three was crying when he saw the blood and how much pain his little brother was in.
The playground attendant turned my son number four toward me. My son’s back and head were covered with blood. As I examined him closer, I noticed that the back of his scalp had been busted open about two inches long and two inches deep.
It was horrible. I could literally look into his head.
I quickly went into serious mode. I instructed a teacher to get me towels to stop the bleeding and asked another to help me get my son into the nurse’s office.
I yelled for someone to call the ambulance and then swiftly carried my son into the school.
The blood from a head injury is quite generous, and it seemed like he and I both were soaked in it. I could barely see the wound anymore.
I sat my son down on my lap while holding his head tightly with one hand, putting pressure on the wound. He cried and cried, but then started to settle down in my arms as I sang hymns to him.
That’s right, right there in that PUBLIC school, I prayed out loud, gave thanks to Jesus and sang Bible hymns.
My only concern was making sure my son was as comfortable as possible, and God’s word in song always makes him and me feel that way.
Before too long, the ambulance arrived and took us to the emergency room. The doctor came in and asked a lot of questions.
“Did he ever lose consciousness?”
“Can he feel his fingers and toes?”
“Can he speak?”
To that question, son number four yelled out a loud “Jesus loves me.”
Those hymns had worked. He told the doctor in a calm voice that he had fallen and hit his head and that his head really hurt.
The doctor explained to me that the wound was deep and they would have to put staples in the back of his head, but they would numb the area first.
We made it through the staples and the pain, and the doctor wrapped his head with gauze and after a few hours sent us on our way.
When we arrived home, I could finally exhale. As I let my mind wander through all that had happened that day, I fell on my knees and started crying. I thanked God that he let my little boy survive and that the accident was not as bad as it might have been.
With all that had gone on that day, I had no time to break down. I had to be strong for my son.
Now I had time to think and really soak in all the seriousness of what had happened. It is so easy to rush through life and not really appreciate those we love. Every day is a precious gift and we need to believe that!
That point was brought home strong on this particular day, and I want to pass it on to you.
Thanks for sharing.