Doug was the only one of my boys in Scouting; first Cub Scouts, then Boy Scouts. Preston wanted to be, but when the invite was passed out at Corning Elementary about attending 'Scout Night', it read: "Bring your Dad and join Cub Scouts". Preston's Dad was 100 miles away, so Preston didn't tell his Mom he wanted to go to the Scout meeting.
I didn't learn of this until a few years later. It still made me mad that the Corning School system could be so insensitive to the children of divorced parents.
Doug & Preston both have August birthdays. They were almost 11 and 2 when Denny and I divorced. Kari had just turned 4. I was working 'mother's hours' that summer - 9 to 3. The summer before I had paid a 13 year old girl to babysit. I decided Doug was just as mature as she had been, so I hired him to watch Kari and Preston while I was at work those 6 hours.
One sunny June afternoon Kari came running out of the house as I pulled up in front of the garage. She was screaming something about Preston cutting his arm and lots of blood. I hurried into the bathroom where Doug was holding Preston's arm over the sink. "It's bad, Mom. He saw you pull in the driveway and went running to the front door. He hit the handle to open it, but the door was locked and his arm went through the glass."
My Boy Scout son had acted quickly. He had tied a tourniquet above Preston's elbow. He had clamped the wound together, wrapped a washcloth around it and was applying pressure. I didn't want to, but I had to see if the blood was spurting - if he had cut an artery. The gash was long and it was deep, but the blood wasn't spurting. I wrapped the washrag back around his arm. "We've got to get him to the hospital!"
Doug had slumped to the floor once I took over. "I can't go. I think I'm going to be sick." I said, "Doug, you've got to. You're going to have to keep pressure on while I drive." At that time, Northwest Hospital was still open in Urbandale. It was probably a ten mile drive from our acreage. I drove as fast as I could on the gravel and then through traffic, all the time thinking my little one would die before I got him there.
When we got to the emergency room I was happy to have the doctors and nurses take over, but I insisted upon going into the room with Preston. Just as Doug had done when I took over, I did when they took over. A nurse saw me beginning to faint. "Lie down on the floor! We don't have time to take care of you, too!"
I don't remember how many stitches they took. There were internal stitches and external stitches. They told me his 'baby fat' was what saved him.
Yeah, that and my Boy Scout trained elder son.
Be Prepared.
I still have that scar on my left arm-even though after all these years, it is slowly disappearing. All this time, I thought that I was older-I guess not. And I don't remember the boy scout thing either. I do seem to remember that the car died at the intersection of 86th and Douglas, though...did it?
ReplyDeleteI remember that all in a series of snapshots, --the happy shouts ("Mommy's home!")turning to screams, Doug telling me "Run out and tell Mom to keep the car running"--which is why I came screaming out of the house like that. I don't remember a thing about the drive, but I remember sitting in the hospital, waiting. And I remember that afterward, we went on out to the cook-out with Arbuckles (?), because, well, everyone was alive, why wouldn't we? I remember feeling terrified that my little brother was basically killed in front of my eyes, and I was helpless to do anything about it. And I remember admiring my big brother Dougie very much: he was a hero. He turned a potentially tragic event into a funny/scary family story we've all been telling (with laughter, instead of tears) for decades.
ReplyDeleteAnother horrifying adventure that thankfully turned out well. WHEW!
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