Be careful what you wish for. Wasn't it just a few weeks ago I was complaining that Kim had all the exciting stories to tell on her blog, that nothing interesting ever happened to me? Since then my sweet little girl got her heart broken over a scooter, a guy got his face bashed in, and now Pasyon has a gash over his left eye. Okay, maybe having nothing to write about was better after all.
Tonight was our ward Christmas party, and it was amazing. They put so much time and effort into making it so awesome. We went "Back to Bethlehem," where we had to come all dressed in biblical garb, pay for our food with coins, eat on the floor around legless tables, etc. It was so cool. We left for the evening feeling spiritually uplifted and chipper.
But before we could even make it out the door, Payson, who runs everywhere he goes, sprinted past us all into the darkened hallway by the primary room, tripped on one of those huge rugs (or maybe it was his toga, I'm not sure) and fell, head first, into the metal frame sourrounding the bottom glass window of the door leading out of the church.
The scream was a tip-off that something was not quite right, and before I even realized what had happened, Bill was holding Payson's head in his hand, blood pouring between his fingers, yelling, "We have to get him somewhere NOW!"
Bill doesn't often talk like that, so when he does I know it's something serious. I freaked out, and I mean freaked. I sputtered a sentence fragment to my cousin Michelle that came out something like "Payson's head....take them ("them" was Macy and Ally, who was coming to spend the night).....Kim......take them......" and I was running out the door. Bill's standing next to our van saying I had to hold the wound shut, and that's when I realized I left my purse in the church with the keys. The wind was insane, it's been like Little Chicago here, and it was freezing cold, especially wearing nothing but a sheet and some safety pins. I sprinted down the sidewalk to the other end of the church (in my panic and haste I somehow still managed to pray that no one could see me running, sheet flying, boobs bouncing all over the place....) and sprinted back to the van (later Bill told me he was impressed at my speed.)
We decided it made more sense if Bill continued to hold the wound (which I had yet to see) and I drove, which I did, like a bat out of hell. I almost hoped I would get pulled over so I could yell at a policeman (paybacks, you know, for all those tickets) and get an escort to the hospital, but no such luck. (Where are those guys when you need them?)
We carried Payson (who amazingly enough had stopped crying before we even got in the van) into the hospital, dressed like Joseph and Mary and little shepherd boy bleeding from the head. I can only imagine what the hospital staff thought.
Fortunately, the cut was "perfect", nice and clean (thanks to the razor sharp metal edge) so they were able to glue it shut instead of stitch it. After one glance at the gaping gash, (I know I exaggerate a lot, but I am so not at all about the size of this sucker. Once I figure out how, I'll post a "before" picture I took on my cell phone.) I went to extreme lengths to not look again, it made me queasy.
Payson loved having it scrubbed out with soap, especially when they shoved the sponge inside the cut to make sure it was really sterile. Yeah, that was tons o' fun.
An hour and a few remarks about our attire later, we were out of there with a happy boy and fatty hospital bill. Macy has not looked at her brother yet, but we think in a week or so her curiosity will get the best of her and she'll just have to look, like everyone else.
My apologies for yet another lengthy story, I promise as soon as all these crazy things stop happening I'll keep it short and simple. Ha!
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