Not Again!

I cringe when my phone rings and the Caller I.D. reads "Dartmouth Middle School". It is never good news.

Why should today be any different. At 2pm, the call came. On the other end of the line, the school nurse explained to me that Justin gashed his eye brow on the corner of his desk. Apparently, he was bending down to pick up a noodle (don't ask) that had fallen on the floor and BANG! Justin told me that the substitute teacher began to freak out. Hello...This teacher should have enough sense to remain calm.

So, Justin and I made the familiar trip to Kaiser Santa Clara Hospital. I was mentally preparing myself for the hours of waiting ahead of us. Justin was mentally preparing himself for a procedure that he detests. Shots...Pain...Not again!

I was happily surprised to walk into an empty E.R. When does that ever happen? The check-in lady (I don't know her pro. title), took a look at my belly and then at Justin's face and asked, "Which one are we seeing?" Ha! Ha!

Justin got right in to see the doctor and was relieved to see that she was the same doctor he had in January. An hour and four stitches later, Justin and I were headed home. I'm calling that a record. Only one hour!


Update:
My dad is home from the hospital now. I spoke to him a couple of times today and he sounds tired, but great. The tests that were performed yesterday and today all came back with good news. It wasn't a heart attack. His heart hasn't suffered any damages and his arteries are clear. He gave us quite a scare! The doctors did put him on medication that is supposed to prevent this from happening again.
Get some rest, Dad. We all love you!

Thy Will Not Mine

At this moment, my previous entry seems insignificant.

My mom just called to tell me that my dad is in the hospital. While working in the temple, he suffered heart attack symptoms. In the ambulance, they had to stop and re-start his heart.

We won't know anything until tomorrow. But, right now, he is resting peacefully and is alert.

I am grateful for loving parents who taught me that I have a Heavenly Father.
I am grateful for parents who taught me how to pray to my Father in Heaven. Because of their example and teachings, I know that I can kneel down right now and have a personal conversation with God. I know that He hears and answers prayers.

I know that it is His will, not mine.

Knowing When to Hold On

Thursday morning, I got a call from the Dartmouth Middle School nurse telling me that Justin had been hit with a lacrosse stick during P.E. I was told he had a big gash on his upper lip that needed to be looked at by a doctor.

After changing out of his bloody P.E. clothes, Justin and I drove to the E.R. In the car, he expressed his fears of getting stitches. I tried to ease his fears by sharing my own experiences with stitches. But, I quickly realized that there were no words to comfort him. The unknown is always scary. Justin would just have to experience it for himself.

When the doctor finally saw us, Justin's lips began to quiver as he told her what had happened.

His courage was slipping.

Tears began to fall as the doctor explained to him that he would need about 5 stitches because of the shape of the gash. It looked like an up-side-down y.

It's hard being a mother to an almost 14 year old boy. What was my role? Should I keep my distance while offering words of encouragement? Or should I stand by his side and hold his hand? Would he be embarrassed if I did that? Would he think I were treating him like a baby?

Those of you who have teenage boys know what I'm talking about. At this age, they act like they don't need any help, especially from their Mom. They walk and talk tough, but deep down, I think they still want to be loved and treated like they did when they were little.

Can you guess what I ended up doing?

As the doctor put the needle in his gash to numb the area, I walked around to the other side of the table and took his hand in mine. He squeezed tight as the pain increased with every poke of the needle.

Yes...He did need me.

Have we talked about it since?

No.

Will we ever?

I don't know. Perhaps it will come up when I'm old and gray and he's standing beside my hospital bed, holding my hands as I get pricked with a needle. Maybe then he will say, "Mom...Do you remember that time when I got stitches for the first time and you held my hands..."