I was in the kitchen yesterday afternoon, trying to prepare dinner before we left for swimming when I heard the Princess cry. It wasn't the sad cry. It wasn't the angry cry. It wasn't the "my baby brother is trying to be in the same room with me so I'm gonna throw an all out schizoid temper-tantrum fit" cry. It was the hurt cry. The real, true pain cry. I was halfway down the hall to the living-room when reached me. I could see, from 4 feet away, the cut below her eye. I could see that it was deep, and below it the river of blood flowing down her cheek, her chin. Splashing onto her shirt, her pants, her socks, the floor. She'd fallen while playing and hit her face on the edge of the bookshelf.
I scooped her up, and sat her on the kitchen table while I searched for a clean cloth to dampen and hold to her face. I held her with one arm and kissed and shushed her while I reached for the phone. I left deranged messages on half a dozen answering machines around the neighbourhood (hey, I don't like to worry and panic alone!) before finding a neighbour to come and watch Bad so that I could drive my Princess to the emergency room.
She didn't want to go, and she refused to leave until I changed her clothes. I told her how nice the doctors were there, that she'd been there before when she was a baby. She was very worried when I couldn't promise that she would have a girl doctor. But she's a tough cookie, and she stopped crying, and she held the cloth to her face. She fell asleep on the 15 minute drive.
All the emergency parking spots were full, never a good sign, so I had to park in the Visitor's lot and carry my girlie across to Emergency. After a short interrogation by the triage nurse we registered and sat down to wait. It was almost 2 hours before we saw the doctor, but the Princess had a good time. There were storybooks in the waiting room, and she had her mom's lap all to herself. In the examination room we played I Spy, and practised counting, and we sang all her favourite songs.
Finally Dr. Tall, Dark and Handsome arrived. He was as gentle and soft-spoken as could be. The Princess smiled, and answered his questions, and followed his finger so he could check her vision. She didn't flinch as he felt all the bones in her cheek. We'd been waiting so long that the cut had already started to close on its own, and because it was horizontal, and straight (apparently that's much better than a vertical cut), and because of her age, he didn't want to stitch or glue it. He gave me a list of instructions: Don't wash the cut for a couple days until it's good and dry. Squeeze a vitamin E capsule and rub onto the scar at bedtime for the next few months, and make sure there is SPF 50 on that area whenever we're out in the sun at least until July or August. She shouldn't have much of a scar.
Then Dr. Tall, Dark and Handsome did the unthinkable. He took out a tiny little band-aid and gently applied it to her face. The Princess freaked. She protested and cried, her little body shook with the sobs. Dr. Tall, Dark and Handsome looked from his previously brave patient to me with no small amount of shock. "I'm glad I didn't have to do stitches!" He didn't know what was wrong. I guess only I could hear the words coming soft and low between her sobs. "That's a boy band-aid mommy! It doesn't match my outfit!"
We stopped at Shopper's on the way home for Disney Princess bandages, and as I gave my Princess an extra hug last night at bedtime, she squeezed me hard and whispered, "I love you Mommy. These boy doctors just don't understand about girls!"