They Dun Broke Our Grandson

Our oldest and only male grandson was bitten by a dog last Saturday and when I say bitten I mean attacked.  I know the phrase”attacked by a dog” sounds pretty harsh but if it is your son, daughter or grandson that’s been attacked, and then it’s dead on accurate.

Apparently said grandson, age six, was running the neighborhood with his posse when they went into of his pal’s back yard and startled the mutt, the mutt who had never bitten anyone, and mutt being the breed.  The dog grabbed the arm and then moved to the face.  The first our son Matt knew of the attack was when the neighbor came running down the alley with a bloody, crying boy child. 

Grandson chilling giving the thumbs up before the repair work.

The owner of the offending dog and my kids have handled all of this like the responsible adults and neighbors they are, they are all to be commended to this point.  The dog wasn’t a dangerous breed running loose on the street, the dog wasn’t a bitter, it was, it was a terrible accident.

Grandson went to the emergency room which, thanks or no thanks to Marty’s numerous trips, our family understands.   We know how to do the ER.  He was examined, cleaned up and dismissed with orders to report back later in the week to have the wounds closed surgically.  They didn’t do the suturing immediately in deference to potential infection.

The grandson had the gluing and stitching done yesterday.  He came through like the tough little kid he is and looks a little bit like he’s been in a fist fight.  

I went to the hospital in Dallas to offer what moral support I could to grandson and his parents.  When I told Marty I was going she said, in no uncertain terms, “Get him a toy.”  She still knows not to go to the hospital empty handed.

Grandson’s other grandmother and I spent a few hours together in the pediatric surgical waiting room.  While being in a surgical waiting room, particularly a pediatric surgical waiting room is a colossal and frightening drag I couldn’t shake the feeling that I bet our reason for surgery was a lot better than some of those parents.  

Sick kids, dangerously sick kids, kids with heart problems or long problems or any serious problems are the absolute worst.  Matt and Erin both had hospital experiences and they simply suck for kids and parents.  

I remember as they wheeled Matt off to surgery on two different occasions.  I felt completely powerless, out of control, scared, angry and scared some more.  It is impossibly hard to believe you are making the decision to send your loved one, your totally vulnerable child, into an operating room to be anesthetized, sutured, patched, bandaged, and maybe saved by strangers.

Situations like this always drive home how much I, how much my whole family really misses having the large and in charge Marty.  The large and in charge part could be a bit over powering at times but I really miss her intellect, her problem solving, her knowledge of the medical process, her questions, her answers and her passion.  

I miss it, so do our kids, and so do our grand-kids whether they know it or not.  

I can state unequivocally, I missed it when it was her in the hospital and I was the one in charge.

But, in a sense Marty was there. 

She taught me, she taught her kids how to do what needs to be done.  Marty’s influence was with Erin when she called me and told me I needed get myself to Dallas, Marty’s experience was there when Matt and Sarah drove grandson to the ER, and Marty was with them when they talked to the nurse and the doctor until they had a thorough understanding of the care and treatment of the post surgical grand-kid.

Marty, through her life, through her illness, taught us how to do the crises in our lives.  She modeled the caring, compassionate, in-charge behaviors for our children enough that maybe, just maybe her presences was felt through the whole incident from bite to stitch.

Marty didn’t get to drive to Dallas the Saturday the attack occurred, believe me when I say, nothing would have held back the old Marty.  Marty didn’t get to actually sit in the hospital while a six year old baby was being put back together.  Maybe it doesn’t matter that she wasn’t in the room; maybe the most important things, her influence and her guidance and her confidence were there through her family.  I can’t tell you how good that makes me feel.

Oh….and #2 granddaughter’s cat died….Marty would have been all over that too.