Carson was attacked by a shark.
It took a bite out of his hand, but he managed to escape to tell the tale. And until he can tell the tale for himself, I'll tell it for him.
Eli was wandering around the house getting into trouble because he was bored. "Eli! Let's vacuum the house!" I said, hoping a little house cleaning would cure his boredom-induced mischievousness.
I got both kids hyped about vacuuming. I even had them picking up toys and clothes off the ground, convincing them the vacuum would suck their things up forever if they weren't safely put away.
Then we got the hose going to clean the air conditioning intakes. I patted myself on the back for seizing the opportunity to get this neglected chore off my to-do list. Vacuuming was done, but Eli was still so entertained by the hose -- giving himself hickeys, and finding goldfish underneath the couch for the vacuum to slurp down, so I left him to continue cleaning crumbs from under the couch.
I heard the vacuum fall over, but no one cried, so I assumed no harm was done.
A few minutes later, I heard Carson scream. I looked at him and saw his little face looking so helpless staring back at me. I couldn't figure out what was wrong with him until I got closer and saw his hand jammed in the bottom, spinning brush part of the vacuum.
I yanked his hand out. The blood drained from my body each time I dared to inspect the damage. His hand wasn't bleeding very much, but after braving up for one good look at his thumb, I saw the inside palm part of it was white.
"Is that his BONE?!?" I screamed with panic and terror.
I paced the house. Taking little peeks at the injury with two kids now screaming and crowding my thoughts. I walked outside? I don't know why I did. But I did. Maybe it felt too loud in my house? Maybe I was trying to escape the buzzing of the vacuum that I never had time to turn off? Maybe I was hoping a neighbor would hear my dilemma and come attend to my child because I do not do well in emergency situations?
I was in the backyard, still pacing, when I called Jeff. I told him the story and then went into my dramatizations, "Jeff. I think I see bone. It's all white on his thumb. I'm taking him to the hospital. I think I need to go. It's really bad. I think he got burned really bad."
I was understandably worried. Jeff's sister's little boy had a somewhat similar thing happen to him. He got his hand stuck in a treadmill with the belt rubbing against him. He was sent to the hospital, and he had to get surgery, treatments and physical therapy. I saw visions of Carson's injury turning into the same thing.
So I panicked.
Luckily Jeff came home to inspect the damage for himself before I carted us off to the hospital. Jeff diagnosed his hand as bad, but not severe, and assured me the white part was not bone, but was probably white because he had a friction burn from the brush part of the vacuum.
After some pained screaming from all four members of our family, we were able to get Neosporin and a wrap on Carson's hand, and he immediately cheered up.
I already had Eli and Carson's well-child doctor visits scheduled for a couple days later, so we home-treated the wound until we were able to see the doctor.
After the doctor removed Carson's bandages and inspected his hand, I hesitantly asked, "Is it bad?"
Silence.
"Should we have taken him to the hospital?" The nervous questions started rolling off my tongue.
Raised eyebrows.
"Is it a burn?" I continued firing.
"Yeah. It looks like it is a friction burn. I'm going to have you go see someone at Primary Children's Hospital. That sounds scary, but I'm just worried he could lose mobility in his thumb if it doesn't heal correctly."
Oh. Crud. I became the silent one. He left the room to get bandages to re-wrap Carson's hand.
He came back with handfuls of gauze, tape, doctor popsicle sticks and cream. With Carson pinned down and screaming like I've never heard him scream before, the doctor began cleaning up the wound.
"Oh. Okay." He said after a minute, "You know what? This actually isn't as bad as I thought. I thought it went all the way down into the crease of his thumb, but it stops right before. I think he will be okay to just come back and see me in a week to make sure it's healing up alright."
"So we don't have to take him to Primary Children's?" I rephrased, just to make sure we were on the same page.
"Yeah. I think he will be alright. It's healing up nicely, and it's really clean, so I think he'll be just fine."
Then 15 minutes of tortured screaming happened while we made several unsuccessful attempts to rewrap Carson's Shark bite. It was miserable.
And then he had to get two shots to top it all off. It took him three hours to fully recover from that doctor's visit. Poor guy.
But the good news -- all is well (unless the doctor says otherwise this Wednesday at Carson's checkup), Carson is happy, and his hurt hand has not interfered with giving me hugs and kisses.
Plus, now he can tell everyone he's been attacked by a shark, which is just about the coolest thing ever.
