PARENTS CRY TOO

This past Mother’s day weekend, was one of the hardest I have ever had as a mother. And quite frankly, at any point in my life. It got me thinking about how in times of adversity, we as parents, have this innate ability to just pull our shit together and be the strength our babies need. We can “put on our big girl panties” as they say. It’s kind of our super power. There are times when falling apart isn’t an option, but there are also times when it is ok to cry. To show your kids that you are also scared, or sad. That you are human and have emotions just like them. And that does not make you weak, it shows your strength.

Before I go on, I feel like I should let you in on what happened this past weekend and not just leave you wondering, because I know my mind would imagine all sorts of stories, and I assure you that if this all didn’t happen to me in such a short span of time, I wouldn’t believe it either. In a span of less than one hundred hours, I was hit with so many emotional grenades, it is a wonder that I made it out the other side without being locked in a padded room. 

On Wednesday, my four year old daughter awoke in the middle of the night saying that her throat hurt. She had been fine the previous evening, and it has been particularly dry out lately, so initially I thought nothing of it and gave her some water to drink and back to sleep. My mom was watching her that day while I was at work, so I told her to keep an eye on her to see if she was still having a sore throat. She had a couple low grade fevers that were easily treated with children’s Tylenol, but she was eating and acting fine. That evening however, the Tylenol didn’t suffice and I had to supplement with children’s Advil as well to get the fever down. 

I took a look at her throat and there was some slight redness but my mommy senses suspected strep throat. My son had had a strep infection about a month earlier and since he never complained of a sore throat, I didn’t even think about it until he broke out in a full body rash and was diagnosed with scarlet fever and started on antibiotics. I mean, I thought scarlet fever was some 1800s plague, but alas it is still around. Who knew?!

So because of my previous run in with strep and the fact that I knew there was an incredibly invasive strain this year that was hitting so many people hard, I made the decision to take her in the next morning to get swabbed. In the morning, I took another look at her throat and overnight, it had gotten angry, and I was convinced it was indeed Strep throat. Luckily our pharmacist could perform the swab right there, and it didn’t take long to come back positive. I also got swabbed because I didn’t think I would be so lucky to escape strep after two kids, but alas, my scratchy throat was entirely psychosomatic and I was negative. I guess I should count that as a tiny blessing for what was to come. 

We picked up our antibiotics and headed home for some snuggles and Disney movies. She still had fevers that first day but after three doses of the antibiotics by the next day, the fever had broken and she was on the mend. But no, a dangerous, contagious bacteria was not the end of my mommy saga, it was only the beginning. 

Friday was the calm before the next storm. I spent the day being bossed around by my tiny slave driver because she was sick and getting household chores done. My six year old son got home from school and just wanted to relax on the couch as well while I made dinner. After dinner, however, they were itching to get outside and play. Daddy had just fixed the kids quad and my son was finally feeling comfortable driving it by himself around the yard. We live on an acreage, so there was plenty of room to do laps around the house. 

It was around 7:30pm and they knew they had to come in by 8pm to start getting ready for bed. My son was taking my daughter on some laps before she decided to come inside and he continued outside with daddy. On one lap around the house, with daddy pretending to chase him, he tried to make a sharp turn, and hit one of the few trees in the middle of the yard. This caused him to fall off his quad and right on to his right elbow. Luckily he was wearing his helmet and did not hit his head. 

He instantly started crying as my husband came around the corner. He was holding his right arm with his left, and there was swelling right away. Both came running in the house and I got up to see what happened this time and as a crying child coming in from outside is not out of the norm. They are typically quick to cry even with minor injuries. But this was different. The cry was different. The instant I looked at his arm, I knew it was broken. It was not bent in a funny way or anything obvious like that, but as a paramedic I know a deformity when I see a deformity. Also because of my paramedic training, I am more of a “just walk it off” kind of mom, but this time I knew there was something actually wrong. 

I grabbed a sweater to wrap around his shoulders, grabbed his health care card, placed an ice pack around his arm, and my husband carried him out to my car and helped get him into his booster seat. I gave him a dose of children’s Advil to help with the pain because I knew there could be a wait at the hospital, and was hoping it would take the edge off at least. Good thing we had lots of Advil and Tylenol kicking around already after the fevers of my other child just a couple days earlier. 

I can’t deny that I drove faster than the speed limit on the way to the hospital. The sounds of my child screaming in pain, permanently etched in my brain. The helplessness that I felt that I couldn’t do anything to make it all ok in that moment. I knew he was scared. I was scared. But I stayed strong for my boy and kept telling him that the doctors were going to help him and it would be all ok. He kept saying he knew his arm was broken, and I didn’t contradict him. I didn’t want to lie to him. I wanted him to know what was going to happen so at least his fears wouldn’t be because of the unknown. 

My mom met us at the hospital as she conveniently lived across the street. You are never too old to need your mama and I was thankful for her being there as my husband was home with our daughter. I lifted my boy out and carried him towards the emergency room, leaving his door wide open on the car and not even caring. My mom secured the car and came in after us. There was a wheelchair inside the door so I gently placed him in it because he is a lot heavier than I remembered. 

The triage nurse gave him a sling and an ice pack. We got into a “room” pretty fast, and I expected him to be seen quickly. After all, that is how most hospitals work. But this was a rural hospital. We watched as several other patients got brought into their respective curtained areas, and yet no nurses or doctors were going there either. I work in healthcare and I know that there is charting and many things to be done behind the scenes, but we waited for more than two hours before someone came to see us, before a simple x-ray was ordered, as my little boy cried in pain. As a mama, I found it extremely hard to empathise with the staff at that moment. 

He would have been considered “fast track,” meaning that they didn’t need to run a bunch of tests to figure out what was going on. It was obvious. He had a deformity on his arm and needed an x-ray to tell us what and where was broken so we would know what to do next. The only saving grace was that we had a bed so that I could hold my baby (because no matter how big he gets, he will always be my baby) in my arms and let him watch whatever he wanted on YouTube on my phone. 

So after what felt like an eternity, he had his x-ray and it was confirmed that his arm was indeed broken. The doctor had told us that he thought we would just have to splint it and would be done, but he wanted to consult with the Stollery Children’s Hospital just in case because he “had never seen a brake like this before.” I should have known it was not just a simple fracture with those words, but he seemed encouraging that all he needed was a cast. It was nearing midnight at this point and we were all tired, especially my boy who was overtired and was not helping him deal with the stress of the events. We all just wanted to go home.


Then the doctor came back and said what no parent wants to hear, “The Stollery wants you to go there immediately.” Why on earth did we need to go right away, or even in the first place, if moments earlier he was telling us that he likely just needed a cast? This was the moment I cracked. I called my husband to let him know what was happening and the moment I heard his voice, I burst into tears. I couldn’t hold it in anymore. My son was crying because he just wanted to go home. I could hear my daughter crying in the background of the phone call asking for mommy because she was still not feeling all better and only mommy snuggles could help. My mommy heart was being pulled in two directions and I couldn’t do either. I let myself cry. I didn’t try to stop it. I needed to release some of the stress. I told my son that I was sad that he had to go through this but I would be there holding him every step of the way. 

My mom told me she would come to the next hospital with us but I told her to go home and try to get some rest, there was no point in both of us being exhausted, and I would text her with updates. I knew she probably wouldn’t sleep much, nor would my husband, but at least they could be comfortable at home. Soon, I stopped crying and put those “big girl panties” back on. The nurses put a temporary half slab on his arm, gave him some morphine for the drive and after some monitoring to make sure morphine didn’t depress his respiratory drive. I just wanted to get him out of there and into the car where I knew he would fall asleep for a little while at least from pure exhaustion. Finally, we were discharged with a paper to give triage at the Stollery advising that we had already been accepted by orthopaedics. 

I don't think we even made it out of the parking lot before he was asleep and I was thankful. I stopped at a McDonald’s drive-thru for a large coffee as I knew my night was nowhere near over yet and we were on our way. It is approximately a 45 minute drive to the children's hospital from where we were and he slept the entire way. I even stayed in the parking lot for another 30 or so minutes after we arrived because I knew he needed the sleep.

After he woke up a bit, we made our way inside and after a short wait in the waiting room, we were brought back to our room in the ER. There was no waiting hours at this hospital, the doctor came in shortly after we were settled. This is when he told me that my son’s elbow was “shattered,” and that they would first need to reset it temporarily, and he would be put on the surgical list for that day. Shattered. Like multiple fractures, multiple pieces. How on earth did the first doctor think that we could just throw a cast on him and call it a day?! Had I known it was “shattered,” I would have instantly known what would lay ahead, but instead this news hit me like a punch in the gut. My baby would be sedated twice before the day was over and I would be there to witness it. 

He had had dental surgery the previous summer, so I had already held his hand once while being put to sleep, but this was now going to be the second time in his six short years.

When they came in to do the realignment of his arm, they told me that they were going to use ketamine. This is something we used every now and again on the ambulance but I had never seen it done on a child, let alone, my child. I was prepared mentally for Propofol which I had just assumed they would use. The medication that just makes them go to sleep. Not completely unconscious like general anaesthetic but a nice quick nap where they feel and remember nothing. Ketamine is not that drug. I was warned his eyes would make some funny movements, but the way he looked will never leave my brain. His eyes were glazed over and wide open. He started twitching. He held his breath several times and I would have to tell him to breathe. The doctor told me he was fighting it and then gave him some more. I knew he would remember none of this, but I do. I can still see it in my mind's eye. The whole episode likely only lasted around five or so minutes, but it was some of the longest minutes of my life. 

After he came out of the sedation, we were finally given some good news. His surgery would still be that day but unlikely to be first thing in the morning, so if we wanted, we could head home for a few hours of sleep and report back to the day surgery ward around 11am. It was around 5am at this point and we both just wanted our beds. We live about an hour away from the hospital, but I knew it would be worth it just to feel the comfort of our own beds for a while, and I knew my husband and daughter would want to come back with us for the surgery so he would be able to drive later so I could rest some more after the late night. 

My son wanted to sleep in my bed with daddy so we got some pillows set up to rest his arm on, he snuggled into daddy and was quickly asleep. I crawled into bed with my daughter and she instinctively snuggled into me. I felt whole again. I knew my babies were safe, if only for a few hours. I fell asleep instantly.

A few hours later I awoke and had a shower before another long day at the hospital. We waited until the last minute to wake my son. He wasn’t allowed to eat, just have clear liquids so there was no need to wake him any earlier than we needed to.

When we arrived at the day surgery unit, they were expecting us and showed us to the room we would be waiting in. The staff was amazing. They brought an extra stretcher in so that I (or my husband or daughter) could lay in to also get some rest as she knew I had had a late night with him. They brought iPads and toys for the kids to keep busy, and popsicles, juice and jello (all apparently considered “clear” fluids) to snack on. The wait again was longer than we thought it would be, but around 3pm, it was his turn. I got dressed up in my surgical gown and hair net and walked alongside my boy going into surgery, again. He was scared. I was scared. I told him the doctors were going to fix his arm. That they would take good care of him and I would be right there when he woke up. He knew I would be. I stayed strong. They pushed the meds into his IV and his hand went limp in mine and once again, I broke down. 

Tears flowed down my cheeks as I made my way back to my husband. He had tears in his eyes as well. We held each other and cried for a few minutes. Then my daughter asked why we were sad. I told her that mommy doesn’t like that her brother has to go through all this and that it makes me sad. She told me that she is sad that he is hurt too. I told her it was ok to be sad, because it was sad. Soon we will be home and he will start healing and we will all be ok again, but right now we are allowed to be sad. 

Two hours later, he was back, smiling, eating a blue popsicle and sporting a fancy orange cast. After some post-op checks and home instructions, we were finally allowed to go home. We arrived home around 7pm, changed our clothes, brushed our teeth and we were all happy to go to bed. Tomorrow was a new day, it was mothers day, and though I had originally just wanted a day to myself, that was ok, I would snuggle with my babies and all would be well with the world.

I awoke after the first twelve hour sleep I had had in I don’t even know how long, made myself some coffee and parked myself on the couch for a long day of just doing nothing. And then I heard my husband yelling from downstairs. “Lola is hurt bad!”

Lola is our dalmatian. She was our first baby. She had just turned 11 years old. I ran down the stairs to see my poor pup with porcupine quills sticking out of her face and chest. There must have been a hundred of them. She was old and she was hurt and needed the emergency vet now. It was the last straw, I had cried a few times over the past few days, but this was my breaking point. I thought to myself, if my dog dies, I will end up in a padded room. I held her and sobbed while my husband jumped into action this time. He quickly got changed, grabbed her leash and brought her out to his truck while I kept the kids in another room so they wouldn’t have to see her like that. 

After they left, I sat on the couch and sobbed. Like full on ugly cry. All the stress came out like a tidal wave. And then my kids sat on either side of me, hugged me, and told me Lola was going to be ok, that the dog doctor would make her feel better. They comforted me like I would have done to them. They saw me sob and didn’t shy away and not know what to do, they did what they had known and gave me the care and compassion in that moment. I knew right then that I must be doing something right as a mom. 

After all that happened, I declared that no one was allowed to leave the house again. I’m kidding, but I won’t lie that I didn’t think something was bound to go wrong around every corner. I am normally a very optimistic person, but this had shaken me to the core and took me a while to get back to my “silver lining” outlook on life. What it did teach me is that it is ok to feel.