The Boy To The Rescue

Last night was The Boy's annual Valentine Dance. Behaviors at the "dance" are fairly predictable from event to event.

The boy's initiate the evening by running wildly through the auditorium chasing other boys. Then the girls run wildly through the auditorium chasing the boys. Then the boys muster the courage to chase the girls. And then the girls pretend they are not enjoying being chased by the boys.

There are always a few girls and boys who actually dance. The girls twirl in their prettiest party dresses. The Boy's gyrate in their Sunday best.

The Teenager, who has recently been invited, eats sweets when she thinks I am not looking.

The Baby is generally wheeled around by a nice young man in The Boy's class who has taken her under his wing. This year I put the Baby in the wheel chair stroller which is not as tippy as her one-armed drive wheel chair since we learned at previous events that, like all "young men," the wheeling around frequently involves high speed chases and wheelies.

I spend the evening shrieking at The Boy to..."STOP RUNNING OR YOU WILL SIT THIS ONE OUT!"

Because all I can think of is that blasted intramedullary rod in one of his femurs that is telescoping out of postilion and I don't want to ever see him suffer like he did during the 2008 bent-rod-femur-fracture-2 surgeries-in-2-weeks-significant-blood loss-non-union-bone stimulator-for- one -year- fiasco. Ever again.

Ouch from Google Images

Our orthopedic appointment is April 9th to schedule the elective surgery to replace the rod.

The phrase "elective surgery" in our family is an oxymoron. So I continue to shriek at school dances.

One year I actually left him in the care of a number of parents at the dance who assured me they would watch him. When I returned to pick him up he was clad in a white sleeveless undershirt. I asked what happened to his Sunday dress shirt and neck tie and one of the parents replied, "Oh we though that's what he wore to the dance."

I've never dropped him off again. Thank God the undershirt wasn't one of those holy, stained rags we keep for "layering" during the winter months.

Last night the dance was going as predicted above. The Teenager was somewhere in the kitchen cruising for cupcakes. The Baby was doing wheelies and peeling out with her dance partner. I was stealing Sweet Tart lollipops from unsuspecting children.

Dang those things are good!

And then the Boy comes running (yes of course) to me yelling...

"EMERGENCY! EMERGENCY! MOM COME QUICK! WE NEED YOU! EMERGENCY!"

Of course I thought it was one of his usual emergencies. You know The faucet is leaking... A snake has a baby bird in it's mouth...so i waved him off. And then I realized I wasn't responsible for the school plumbing and there were no snakes or birds nests in the auditorium.

Uh oh...

The Boy leads me to the boys bathroom where Attilla is out cold flat on his back. His mom is kneeling at his side on her cell phone calling 911. Seems The Boy knew to grab her first. I was so impressed!

"Mom! Atilla's mom almost ran faster than me!" he was amazed by her sprinting ability.

I wasn't surprised. I explained to The Boy that mom's displayed super powers like that when their "baby's" were hurt even if their "baby' was built like John Cena.

I didn't do much. The nurse in me checked his respiration's while preparing my self mentally to do CPR if necessary and praying it would not be necessary. His pulse was steady. His pupils were equal. There was no blood so I began searching his skull for dents (hate those) or lumps ( a little better). I made mom feel his head where i thought I felt something that shouldn't have been there. Atilla had brain surgery this year so I wasn't sure if the lump should have been there or not. When I moved mom's hand over the suspicious area her eyes grew large.

"That's not supposed to be there."

I instructed The Boy to go and get ice while we waited for the paramedics. Mom continued to talk to the 911 dispatcher asking what was taking them so long while I assessed and stressed silently. Is he not responding well because he's postictal or is he not responding because he has sustained a significant head injury? I hate the not knowing part. I wished I had a CT scanner in my purse.

During all of this The Boy refused to leave Attila and i didn't have the strength to continue arguing with him.

Finally Attila began to respond a little. He knew The Boy was there and said his name twice. He reached for moms hand on and off.

In retrospect it's always hard to tell what came first. The chicken or the egg on the head? Atilla's episode was reminiscent of The Teenagers first seizure where she fell backwards striking her head on an antique steamer trunk. Did she fall first and then begin to seize? Did she seize first and then fall?

In response to the questions, The Boy graced Mrs Needs-To-Be Canonized and myself with a dramatic recreation of the incident. He staggered around, bounced off a couple of walls, and then crashing his head against the wall, slowly slid to the ground where he lay twitching.

Ker. Plunk.

Mrs. Needs-To-Be Canonized and I just looked at each other. I thought I saw a faint, circular glow forming around her head.

As I'm typing this my phone rang with news that Attila is ok. He probably had a seizure due to the onset of puberty and those stinkin' hormones. His head is fine with no skull fracture or concussion.

I hate puberty. But that's a discussion for another time. Right now I am content with the knowledge that Attila is ok and proud to bursting of my boy.