Trauma is a good word to describe Wednesday night. We suggested the boys clean their rooms. It was too much to ask. It was too much to ask for Trevor to pick up 25 legos. Traumatic. He cried and cried at the idea of picking up his toys.
Finally, the cry turned. No longer was it a cry of "I DON'T WANNA!" to a cry of "I'M HURT AND SCARED!"
We ran upstairs to a crying, bleeding-from-the-mouth Trevor.
He had put a stick in his mouth, a plastic pvc pipe for a toy tent. Then he fell.
He punctured his soft palette. I didn't know all that at the time. I just knew I had a crying, bleeding, couldn't-talk-to-me-because-he-was-crying-so-hard, Trevor.
The computer guy looked in his mouth, and saw the hole at the back of this mouth. When his nose started to bleed, too, we decided to take him to the ER.
Before we left, he was able to tell us that he had fallen with a stick in his mouth, but we didn't pick up the stick, and didn't know how far it had gone in. Not knowing how the skull really works, we weren't sure if he had poked himself in the brain or not. I'm still not sure if that's even possible.
5 hours later, after the PA, doctor, and radiologist had reviewed the CT scan, we were assured that he didn't poke his brain.
He's feeling pretty good today. His regular doctor took a look at the injury, and now, it's apparent that the stick went in to and came out of his soft palette. He has two injuries in his mouth. He's having trouble swallowing. Such a bad time to have a hard time swallowing, too. We went to a parade yesterday. Officially, I think it was a Fireman's parade. Unofficially, it was a candy parade. The boys gathered 3 (THREE!) pounds of candy. I wonder if cut up tootsie rolls would make a good cookie? So much candy and so much difficulty swallowing.