25 Cents of Kindness

When I was pregnant with baby number four and found out that it was going to be girl I was excited that she would be like me- the only girl with three older brothers. What I didn't realize was that I was also cursing her with the curse of torture that having three older brothers brings. Accidental as the incidents may be, they can still be considered torture.

When I was about Emma's age our family was to go swimming for Family Home Evening. In the excitement of doing such a fun activity swimsuits were gathered and everyone piled into the car where the door was slammed shut...on my hand...by my brother. Needless to say, we went for a not so fun activity to the doctor's office for stitches instead of going swimming.

Well, last night after Family Home Evening, which included a rousing game of Dallin's creation where we had to make a certain number of baskets within a specified time frame to become Gods and have the ability to create universes had concluded, the kids excitedly ran upstairs to get their jammies on.

There was a cry; the type of cry that tells a parent that something is seriously wrong. But the cry also had anger in it, so Richard and I listened, thinking that one of the brothers had just done something to incredibly upset his sister. But nothing was said and the horrific cry continued punctuated with long silences where the pain was so bad sound just would not come.

I rushed upstairs demanding to know what happened as I scooped up a sobbing Emma. A sheepish Ben replied that she had gotten her hand shut in his door on the side where the hinges are. Emma showed me her hand. There was her left ring finger with the nail attached only at the tip; the rest had been ripped out from under her skin at the base of her nail.

After some quick bandaging and a second opinion call to Grandma Jeanne, we were off to the Provo InstaCare which unfortunately, had closed at 9:00 only 2 minutes before we arrived, so onto Orem we went.

Emma was inconsolable which rattled my sleep deprived mother nerves to the point of feeling inconsolable myself. It was getting late. I was tired and felt helpless that my soothing words and other antics were having no effect on my child. Threatening tears burned in my eyes and just when I didn't think I could take it any longer there was a voice behind me speaking to Emma. It was a woman who was at the InstaCare with her own son. She was telling Emma that she had an extra quarter and had used it to buy her a ring from a vending machine in the waiting room. The crying stopped and a little uninjured hand reached out to take the ring encased in a small plastic ball which was then held tightly throughout the rest of the following procedures.

She didn't start to cry again until they used a needle to numb her finger in order to push the nail back under the skin so that the nail bed would not adhere to the skin preventing any future growth of a nail on that finger. When the needle had been put away the crying quickly subsided as she gripped that little plastic case holding a gift from a stranger. A stranger that with 25 cents and a charitable heart made the difference for a mother and her baby girl when things seemed in chaos and out of control. A stranger that with 25 cents bought back my sanity.

The x-rays were inconclusive of whether the tip of her finger is broken, but they are treating it as such with a splint and a round of antibiotics. I have a small crescent shaped scar between my thumb and forefinger to remind me of the torture that living with 3 brothers can bring, the doctor says that Emma will probably have a rippled nail to remind her of hers. But she will have something else, a cheap plastic white ring decorated with black spirals to wear on that finger with the rippled nail that will always remind me of the kindness that 25 cents bought.


As a side note: After I had finished writing this post today and we were getting ready to pick-up her antibiotic, Emma asked if she could wear the ring that Heavenly Father and Jesus gave her last night. I was floored. But I firmly believe we are the hands that do our Father's work here on this earth and that woman, whoever she may be, was on an angel's errand last night.

Just Getting into the Spirit of Things

I love fall.

The crispness in the air...

The change of sunlight...

The array of delicious harvest foods...

The fallen leaves strewn about like a quilt pieced of crimson, amber, and ochre hued shapes.  Their decay permeating the air with the distinct scent of autumn.

It's heavenly.

And of course, there's Halloween. As much as I love fall, I really love Halloween. The decorating, the costumes, the candy...everything about it says that I was made for this holiday. If time, sheer energy, and the ever mighty dollar weren't an issue, I'm sure our house would take on the appearance of a spook alley attraction from a theme park for the month of October. You can bet it would be awesome.

This year, I think I was feeling like decorating just the house and yard was not enough. I could do more; like maybe I should make the decorating a little more personal this time around. So last week with the help of an old lamp with a broken light bulb I took the Halloween spirit onto my actual person with some Frankenstein like accessories- five of them to be exact. For an added touch of gruesome, a divet where a missing chunk of flesh should be was added just below.

I know that the inside of my arm is kind of an inconspicuous place for these accessories, so I promise that next year I will be more conscious of which body part I gouge with broken glass. I guess my aim was a little off that day. And although it doesn't look all that impressive with out the prescence of gushing blood I think that I have shown there are no legnths that I will not go to for a holiday that I love.

Oh, and if I get tired of the Frankenstein effect the nice medical staff at the Provo InstaCare provided me with this more girlie costume to trade off with.

Two-for-one costumes! Now that's what I'm talking about!

Heck, for $50 bucks I wouldn't have expected anything less.

Five for # 5

I guess Benjamin had not had enough excitement through the course of his birthday weekend because he gave himself a belated birthday "gift" Sunday. It was the type of "gift" kids get all too frequently, you know the kind we all really could have done without receiving. But we all know that kids are greedy.

On Sunday evening, because of church being cancelled for all the little munchkins due to the dedication of the Oquirhh Mountain Temple, the kids were pretty restless. So they headed out in the backyard to play. I am not kidding when I tell you that not even 5 minutes later, Ashton and Dallin came running in screaming something about an EMERGENCY. Since this was the third “EMERGENCY” we had experienced that day and it wasn't coupled with any blood curdling screams, I didn’t take off running. In the backyard, I found Ben on the tramp holding up his foot with blood running down his leg.

Okay……this was an EMERGENCY!!!

I grabbed an old towel lying beside the tramp that had been discarded from a previous game and dabbed the blood away so I could see what we were dealing with.

It was not good.

There was a huge laceration extending horizontally across Ben’s big toe and onto the second one and it was definitely deep enough for stitches. I wound the towel around his foot tight enough to control the bleeding, scooped him up and headed for the house. I met Richard half way across the yard with the “this doesn’t look good” expression and within 10 minutes we were on our way to InstaCare.

Now I have been to InstaCare many times, but I guess I have never been there with Ben, because I am sure I would have remembered it. Have you ever been in the Dr.’s office or some other medical facility and you hear someone’s child screaming at the top of their lungs?

That night it was my child.

I have never heard, no, felt the intensity and power that came from that little body being held down yet cradled by his daddy’s arms. The strength that came from his mouth and lungs was overwhelming and nothing I have ever experienced with any of my children.

It was heartbreaking.

Even with my being a nurse and having medical training and knowledge that this was what was best for him, I was relieved when it was over. We left Instacare two hours after we had arrived with 5 stitches in Ben’s toe, one for every year he was old. What a way to finish off his birthday weekend.

But wait! That’s not the end of the story! You didn’t hear about the tetanus shot at the Dr.’s office the next day. Well, to make a long story short, just go up to paragraph 7 and start reading at the 2nd sentence again.

Same heartbreaking story.

Or I could just say, that I’m sure the staff at Orem Family Medicine will insert their ear plugs the next time they see Benjamin Parke coming through their doors.

The finished product.