The ER. I have fond memories of the ER. I was never in the ER too much growing up, but my brother was there every other week at least. And, actually, I am really glad that we haven't frequented the ER sooner than 3 and a half years of Luke's life. See, my son doubles as a stunt man, super hero and often times any animal that leaps high into the air. My mom had a super hero cape made for him for Christmas last year. Although cute, it's very dangerous at the same time. He puts that on and he thinks he can fly, walk through walls and automatically won't eat anything green because he thinks it is Kryptonite and it will deplete his power source (which explains why he wants to wear his super hero cape to supper when it's broccoli night).
On Sunday, we made our second trip to the Osceola hospital (one was for Bill...that's another long story). It was nice, actually. We didn't have to wait for a room and the on call doctor was there in a matter of minutes. Luke gashed, and I mean GASHED his head open at church. He was dancing around in the foyer, fell and hit the back of his head on the corner of a wall. Ouch. I don't do well with blood, but I kicked it into mommy mode fast.
The poor boy was traumatized, mostly about any preconceived thoughts about what would happen to him at the hospital. He did rather well through the whole staples in the head part.
And, now his injury is on the mend and looks like this
He looks a little like Frankenstein in the back, but all in all, not too noticeable.
Although a good experience, I hope that the Osceola ER doesn't begin to know us on a first-name basis.