Pick up the story here…
Yes! I didn’t have to talk to the Mother! OKOKOKOK. C’mon, now! I didn’t just leave it at that. Have you been following along here? That's not what I'm about. I left a message for her. I even followed it up with a text! How you like me now? Whatever kind of person the Mother is, she still deserves the right to know what’s going on with the kids, at least according to the law.
So, in the meantime, I continued to tend to Jethro. He was calming down, but the cut was still not clotting. Any kind of movement would cause it to bleed a little bit more. I made arrangements with one of Jethro’s associate’s parents to watch the rest of the kids while I ran him to whichever hospital I was running him too.
I glanced over at the time on the microwave. Five minutes or so had passed since my call and still no reply from the Mother. I sighed heavily, asked the big guy upstairs for some strength and placed another call. See? I didn’t just run off half cocked (tee hee). I could have, but didn’t. Yes, I would like a medal, thank you very kindly.
If you knew who I had to deal with all these years, you’d give me 50 of these.
Yes!!! I left another message and made a gameday decision. I was taking Jethro to the local “regular” hospital. Fucketh thateth! I wrapped the bloody shirt around the foot, scooped up the boy and hightailed it the hell out of Dodge.
When you're gettin the hell out of Dodge, this is where you’re getting out of. FYI
Thankfully for your friendly neighborhood Jman, the trip to the emergency room is a bit of a blur. Jethro was a mess the entire ride. Not so much from the wound anymore (or me screaming bloody murder at him earlier), but what they were gonna do to the wound once we got to the hospital. He had himself so worked up, with each passing moment, I was buying at least another 6 months of psychotherapy for him.
The bloody shirt around his foot got us through the emergency room right quick. No painful 6 hour waiting room wait for us! We were ushered through triage/registration and put into an examination room. A nurse burst through the drawn curtain of our temporary examination area. I quickly ran through Jethro’s story while she examined his foot. Because the cut was a clean slice and on his heel, the nurse didn’t think that stitches would work or even be necessary. Jethro, needless to say, was relieved. In fact, he perked right up after that.
uhhh nurse? i think i'd rather just bleed out.
The nurse pulled a cart over toward Jethro’s bed. She took out some medical supplies and carefully cleaned the wound. Jethro happily chatted up the nurse while she taped up his heel. When finished, she excused herself from the exam area. A few moments later, she returned with an “awesome” set of crutches, which became the block’s new toy five minutes after we got home. But, I’m jumping a bit ahead of myself here.
When we got home, Jethro was deemed a conquering hero by all his associates. They formed a circle around him, as he hobbled out of the van, singing “The Wind Beneath My Wings” (Did you ever know that you’re my hero? You’re everything I wish I could be. Fly. Fly. Flyyyyyyyyyyy. High against the sky…). Which, I thought was a little over the top, but what the hell do I know? The bandaged foot was then examined by one and all. They all shared the story amongst themselves, telling their side of the tale, from their perspective. Jethro basked in their glory, recounting his version of the episode, including the dramatics in the ER.
...i can fly higher than an eagle, cause you are the wind...
He lived to tell one helluva tale.
Moral of the story? Wear your shoes outside. Duh! Have you been paying attention? Have you?
Oh. And the Mother? Yea. I eventually heard from her. She was working. And she bitched up and down about where I took Jethro. But, that’s the great thing about cell phones. They have “off” buttons…