And on Today's Episode of "As the Emergency Room Turns..."

In the last ten and three quarters years, I have spent more time in emergency medical situations than I did in the entire first 32 years of my life.

I remember when I was in fifth grade and my teacher, who had two boys, would tell stories about how his sons were constantly breaking or spraining appendages, requiring stitches, or getting general injuries requiring medical attention.

Having two sisters, I totally couldn't relate. Girls. We just don't tend to end up in the ER as often, apparently. At least not in my family.

As a result, I feel woefully unprepared for the medical drama that is associated with boys. You know, like scalpings, impalement, hypoxia, wrist breakages, other miscellaneous scalp lacs and head traumas. Please note: not all of these injuries belong to the little people in this house.

Anyway, for the last two days, the boys have been at Learn to Ski days for school. Since they would be skiing until 3:30pm each day, I took advantage of the opportunity to take a ski lesson myself.

I won't go into the various forms of torture my ski instructor put me through, but today, I wasn't so eager to run back out to the mountain. So I stayed home getting caught up on work. Around 12:45pm, I realized I was going to be finished around 1:30pm and since I had to go to the resort to pick up the kids anyway, I figured I'd at least go make a couple of runs to be sure all of my limbs were still in working order.

Thirty seconds later, the phone rang. It was Eamonn saying that he had just received a call. Declan had "taken a digger," in his words, and was at the mountain's medical center.

Now, over the years I've worked to stay calm in a crisis, but the first words out of my mouth were, "Why did they call you insted of me?" Not, "Oh no! My baby! Is he hurt?" Maybe I need to be a little less calm in a crisis and not worry why the medical people didn't call me since I was the one on the emergency contact forms (Turns out, Declan gave them the wrong phone number for me, but remembered Eamonn's number perfectly. I reminded him that BOTH numbers are on the back of his helmet...and in the pocket of his coat...).

Anyway, I was still in my workout clothes so I threw on real clothing and ran out the door.

Declan had been skiing down a steep-ish run and, in Eamonn's words, "took a digger," hitting himself in the nose with his ski pole on the way down and leaving a nice pool of blood in the snow which always creates a lot of excitement--all of that red on the lovely contrasting white, right? Because there was a lot of blood and he was dizzy, his ski instructor called ski patrol and Declan became the first person in our family to have the honor of being littered off the mountain on the ski patrol sled.

Sweet.

(I had a million questions about how comfortable that was. He said it wasn't that bad.)

An x-ray confirmed there was no serious injury. Words like "nasal contusion" and "mild closed head injury" are on the discharge papers (as in, his nose is bruised and he bumped his head). However, he is restricted from any sports for the next week. He'll be cleared to play hockey just before his game next Saturday (good news since he's the goalie). They take head injuries very seriously these days.

Once discharged, he ate a cheeseburger the size of Texas with a side of fries and then ran down the Beaver Creek cookie lady to get one of the free, warm chocolate chip cookies that are given out every day at 3pm.

I'm pretty sure he's feeling just fine.

See you next time on "As the Emergency Room Turns." Or not if we're lucky. Ha.

Because Who Doesn't Want to Ride in an Ambulance?

I'm trying to remember if I had ever ridden in an ambulance before yesterday afternoon. I'll have to ask my Dad if we rode in one when we were in a car accident when we went to Washington, D.C. when I was in fifth grade. I can't remember.

With the state of health care in this country right now, I've always been grateful that we haven't had to require the use of an ambulance. Because if you think they're taking you on that little ride for free, you are sorely mistaken.

So now we're about to find out exactly what a 30 mile ambulance ride costs. Not that it wasn't worth it and that I don't completely and totally appreciate the firefighters and EMTs that came to our rescue yesterday.

Most of you have read on Facebook that Finn had a mountain bike accident yesterday.

It was gross, people. Really gross.

Eamonn and the boys went out for a ride before dinner. I was working. A frozen pizza was in the oven. I love frozen pizza nights. It's like vacation.

Eamonn called me at about 6pm to say they were on their way home. I took the pizza out of the oven, did a little more work. Minutes later, the phone rang again.

It was Eamonn again, telling me Finn had just had an accident on his bike and that someone was calling 911. He told me where they were and to get there right away. I could hear Finn crying and saying, "I'm dying! I'm dying!" in the background. Not stressful for a mother or anything.

I grabbed my coat, purse and Finn's coat and ran out the door. I drove through the neighborhood at about 60 miles an hour, tires squealing and everything. Sorry, neighbors.

I was to them in probably less than two minutes after getting the call. Hey, it's a small town.

I parked the car at the side of the road and ran down the bike path to them. And here is a bit of advice. If you are going to be running in a crazed frenzy, don't wear slip on shoes. Just an FYI.

A group of people had gathered--some were walking along the path and came across the accident, some had come out of the nearest house, which happens to belong to a guy Eamonn used to work with and he had friends over for dinner that Eamonn also knew. They had brought out blankets and wrapped Finn up.

Eamonn quickly and quietly explained that the brake lever was impaled in Finn's right thigh. I asked if he thought the femoral artery was hit and he shook his head and reminded me that basically, Finn would have been bleeding out there and then. Frankly, there was very little blood at all. The darn brake was just lodged in there. Fortunately, Eamonn had the foresight not to pull them out. I stress a little thinking about what I would have done.

By the way, did you know that when you call 911, everyone comes to the party? Police, fire, ambulance. It was all very dramatic. Cute firefighters running down the bike path towards you. That's a sight to behold.

But I digress.

Brake cables were cut, handle bars taken off the bike, and Finn and I rode in the ambulance to the nearest hospital with the handlebars still firmly attached to his leg.

The friends took the bikes into their house, Declan and Eamonn drove home and gathered some overnight items just in case, including some of Finn's favorite things: like baboo--his lovey that he still sleeps with, Big Boss--his pillow pet, Sharkey--favorite stuffed animal, and Pokemon cards. Because you can't spend the night in the hospital without Pokemon cards, right? What if a nurse wants to trade with you or something? It would be a shame to be unprepared.

Eamonn dropped Declan at Tara's and met us in the ER. Declan gets very, very stressed when someone happens to Finn. I can only assume that it's a result of worrying about the leukemia and we just don't see it flare up very often. So really, it was best for him not to be at the ER.

We had no idea what to expect. Do you have to surgically remove handlebars? It turns out, not in this instance. They slid out pretty easily (a relative term used by someone who did not have handlebars in her thigh). Stitches and a drain were put in and I have to say, even though they numbed the wound, it clearly didn't work to well, although when the doctor took this huge cotton swab and was probing around under the skin, even I almost lost it. I can't imagine how much that must have hurt. In fact, Finn repeatedly said, "Please knock me out!"

In the end, we left after a few hours. Declan decided to spend the night at Tara's. Finn wanted chicken nuggets--I know, I know--so we drove through Wendy's and let him eat deep fried chicken parts to his heart's content.

He was in bed by about 10:30pm; I had drugged him with some Ibuprofen. He slept soundly. We did not. I could not stop envisioning the accident happening (even though I wasn't there) and then what his leg looked like.

I'm telling you, it's gross.

At 6am, we all had a pleasant awakening to our smoke dectectors malfunctioning.

Sweet. What are the odds.

But then again, what are the odds that this accident would happen 366 days after the scalping at the park last year?

Next year, we're not leaving the house on this weekend.

Today we visited the orthopedic surgeon and all is well. The wound, and this is pretty gross, can't be stitched completely shut. So part is sewn shut, part is gaping open. I'm sorry--I shouldn't have used the word gaping. It just has to heal.

I wanted to take a picture, but Finn wouldn't let me. He hasn't seen it yet.

It's probably best that way.

I took a two hour nap today while my children watched inappropriate videos on You Tube. I've decided I don't really care.

The "Luck" of the Irish

Let's recap:

Thursday--Stuck in a blizzard in Denver.

Friday--Declan comes down with massive stomach virus on his 9th birthday (the bright side is we were already home, not stuck in the hotel or in a car during the onslaught).

Saturday--Eamonn nearly amputates the end of his index finger on his left hand and undergoes surgery. Seriously.

For those of you who don't know, Eamonn is a carpenter. He was working with his battery-operated circular saw when it jerked or hit a knot of wood or something and whoosh--blood everywhere. Through two arteries and tendons. Ick. Some direct pressure, elevation and a bag of ice later we were on our way to the hospital (with the kids because I didn't feel like I could leave Declan with anyone because of his stomach virus. Heck, he was right at home with the germ-filled hospital.) in Vail.

And I guess I thought that when you came into an ER with your hand in a bag of ice and wrapped in a bloody towel and mentioning the word saw, you would get priority over the people there with a sprained ankle from skiing. Not so. In fact, I had to go back up to the window and mention that I thought that perhaps time was of the essence considering a finger was nearly dangling off my husband's hand and that hand is his LIVELIHOOD. They were unmoved.

Eventually he was seen and a good friend of my sister's was the x-ray tech on duty so things started moving more quickly (once again, a perk of a small town). Miraculously, Eamonn had managed to jerk his hand away before the blade hit the bone, which amazed everyone who saw the x-ray. It still makes me wince just thinking about it. He commented that he has used the saw millions of times and never had a problem. Apparently yesterday was the day.

So off Eamonn went to surgery with the same surgeon who had operated on Eamonn's cousin Eamon's hand two weeks ago. I think he was a little confused. And probably thinks we're a family that's careless with their hands.

The surgeon gave Eamonn the option of just taking off the end of the finger or trying to save it. He opted to try and save it since he was one of the few carpenters who still had all of his digits anyway.

The boys and I got to hang out in the x-ray lounge all evening, thanks to Chris, instead of being in the main, crowded lounge. So thank you, Chris! We got to watch the Nicklodeon Kids' Choice Awards instead of Jerry Springer, or whatever those people were watching in the other lounge.

After about 2 1/2 hours, we got to go see Eamonn, who was awake, hungry, and a little put out by being told he could have some soup. This isn't good news for a man who hasn't eaten for nearly 12 hours and does not believe that food should splash. In the end he didn't get to eat anything. They kept him overnight and we came home as he was being moved to his room. Finn was surprisingly upset by the whole thing, which I think was primarily driven by fatigue. Today he's more interested in playing Wii than wondering where Eamonn is.

The surgery was completely successful and all tendons and arteries were able to be resected (is that the correct word? I think I heard it on ER.).

We'll be heading back to Vail to pick Eamonn up this afternoon. He has already spoken with the surgeon this morning and had some physio today. According to Eamonn, the most distressing news was not that he will not have any use of his hand at all for the next six weeks and limited use for another six weeks after that (should be interesting at work), but that he cannot have any chocolate for the next two weeks. Apparently the caffeine in it restricts blood flow and the vessels need to be operating at 100% for everything to heal properly. This is hard news for someone who eats chocolate every single day.

I need to go now. I have a papercut on the middle finger of my left hand and it hurts when I type. I'm going to put some Neosporin and a bandaid on to make sure it doesn't get worse. We've had enough trouble around here for now.