So, I was really looking forward to Sunday dinner. My older son was coming up with his girlfriend to eat with us, and he was going to pick up our younger son who was playing Ultimate Frisbee down at the Hilo Bayfront. All we had to do was cook - no driving, no worries.
At 6:30, my younger son calls and says, "Umm, Mom? Can you come get me? I need stitches."
As I was questioning him about how big the cut was, where it was, I could hear people chattering in the background, trying to tell me, "He needs stitches!" Yes, people, I know he needs stitches, but I am 45 minutes away, it is getting dark, and I am trying to figure out how to deal with this - so just be quiet for a second. Yikes. You'd think they thought I was some kind of low-life non-caring mommy.
I told him to call his brother and have his brother take him to his place, so he won't be sitting down there in the dark and bleeding while I get my okole down there. This is all complicated by the fact that my younger son doesn't have a cell phone, of course. I am sure the people who think I am a loser mom aren't going to be reassured by 18 year old driving 20 year old Volvo which needs a bath, but that's not my worry.
I realize that the ER is our only bet because all the Urgent Cares are closed on a Sunday, so that's where we head. He's told by the admitting doc that "Ultimate isn't a contact sport, buddy," which is like the fourth time my son has heard that in the last hour and a half. They basically superglued his forehead back together and we were on our way. "I could have done that myself," I thought as we shelled out the copay - and I might have if the cut weren't on his face to tell you the truth (or at least stitched it - I doctor up animals all the time and have lots and lots of topical antibiotics for humans and animals). It was all neatly done and relatively quick, considering what a mess our only ER can be, and dinner, though cold, was delicious when we finally did get home.