I've been saying for six years now "Mommy doesn't go to the emergency room." Six years. This stems fairly naturally from a fear of emergency rooms, hospitals, and nearly everything medical.
And I've never needed the services of an emergency room. I've been born, and I've given birth three times.
Well-visits cause me much stress.... so much so that until recently Marc would take the kids.
All my years of saying never came to fruition today, about an hour and a half before church. Caleb and Anna were playing, Caleb with a basket over his head. Caleb took a turn into the bathroom, but misjudged, and went down the stairs right next to the bathroom door, head first. The basket stayed on his head all the way down.
Caleb stood up screaming. I ran downstairs. Blood. Everywhere. I start screaming. Marc runs downstairs (fresh from the shower). Grabs towel. Apply pressure.
Call doctor. Go to Emergency Room for stitches. And of course since I'm married to the preacher, I'm the one going to the ER (although Marc did offer to get coverage and to take Caleb, knowing my pre-disposition.)
So, Caleb and Anna (for support) and I got into the van and took a long one mile trip to the hospital.
Everything went so well, and everyone was so proud of Caleb. He was incredibly brave and peaceful, even though he said his head hurt like crazy.
By the time we left the hospital, Caleb had six staples in the side of his head.