I’m lounging in my lawn chair overlooking the campsite field where Theo and a group of kids are running wild finally free from the confines of the car. I’ve got an earthy red in hand and my lungs are filled with fresh forest air. It’s been a long day of travel but the tent is up, we’re fed and we’ve dipped out toes in the ocean. Life is good.
Suddenly, I hear a heart-stopping yell: It’s a mixture of crying, yelling (MAMA!) and bleeding all wrapped into one animal wail. I see Theo running towards me blood and tears streaming down his face into his mouth, his hand over his brow – hysterical.
I walk towards him faux-calmly (I don’t want overreact but feel frantic); it probably looks worse than it is. I scoop him up in such a way that I don’t get blood all over my only jacket and run him to the campsite. We clean him up, check to make sure all his teeth are intact. The bleeding stops but we can see his lower brow swelling in front of our eyes and he’s got scrapes on his forehead, nose and chin.
He keeps sobbing uncontrollably asking if it’s still bleeding. I apply two Angry Bird band aids, and suddenly it’s quiet; he’s fast asleep.
But it’s not over.
Mark says he shouldn’t sleep, he might have a concussion so we drive around Sechelt in search of a clinic. Our GPS leads us erroneously to an acupuncture and wellness clinic, then to a Health Unit where the receptionist sends us to the medical clinic, which is full so they suggest the ER.
By this point, Theo is eating gummy bears, giggling and singing songs, so we drive back to campsite and resume where we left off.
This is my seventh post for the September – 21 Moments Writing Challenge. Fourteen more to go!