Injury

Now that we have a high-deductible insurance, I am more than easily chagrined at every act of stupidity and self-destruction that my boys tend to conduct.

Like jumping off the table into the bed. The four-year old knew that when he just held his toe lying on the bed wailing quietly. I was no comfort: jumping off the desk is stupid! I wanted to have a look. He refused to show.

I started calculating the likelihood that the injury is serious and we have to go to the doctor. Or even worse, the Emergency Room. For today is Friday. And if we will not resolve it by the afternoon, we will have very few choices.

Two hours later, he still holds that toe. If he walks, I think, he will be alright. Unless he won’t, and then I will not forgive myself ‘till the end of my life.

He still refuses to show it. I just sit quietly next to him. At last, he volunteers.

“I have a problem.”

I nod. “Is it your toe?”

“Yes,” he says.

“Did you hurt it when you jumped off the bed?”

“Yes,” he says.

“May I have a look?”

“No.”

“Do you think we should go to the doctor?” I am trying to involve him into the decision making.

“No.”

“Do you think it will go away by itself?”

“No.”

I am running out of options here. I try another one: “Do you think a Band-Aid will help?”

“No.”

“So what do you think will help?” I ask calmly and sweetly, hiding the hurricane of emotions ravaging on the inside. I know this is an almost useless question for this son loves when we come up with solutions to his problems that mostly validate the solutions in his head. He answers to my relief:

“Two Band-Aids.”

By Dilyara Breyer