drama for the mama

I was writing about other things today, and then there was an accident.  It wasn't serious - but I haven't had too many accidents with my children - so while I used to volunteer on an ambulance, and I used to be certified as an EMT and EDT - I have known since the day my first was born that I would have a hard time handling any pain they may face.  I mean, even teething pain had me questioning the worth of this life that brings so much suffering.  How can any of it be justified?  Sometimes, the core of my being screams - THIS IS WRONG!

 Yes, I would do anything to shield them from it...

So, it was a relatively small drama the other day - and yet, anyone who has had a finger caught in a door knows how painful that is.  I was teaching my lesson just before lunch and our nanny called my phone.  I was late to answer, but answered in the middle of class because she normally only calls for serious reasons.  I missed her call, and called her back and we were tying up the lines because I also realized we were trying to call each other.  I started to feel panic because I realized it was serious.  I didn't understand everything she said - but understood balcony (insert gasp) ...door... nail...cut...come home.  I could hear Teoman crying in the background.  I understood enough that it wasn't an emergency, but she was asking me to come home - so it was serious enough, and my dear boy was crying.  He is not a cryer.

I told my students I had to go because of an emergency - they celebrated as soon as I walked out of the door, and I ran down the hallway looking for someone to take over my class for the last five minutes.  I ran upstairs and got my bag and keys.  Ran to the parking lot, and drove fast home.  I kept telling myself to drive carefully, this wasn't a real emergency - but I felt panicked as well.  I needed to be home NOW.

I pulled into our lot and our nanny was waiting outside, holding both the kids hands.  Teoman was holding his other hand out in the air - away from everything and crying and crying.  Two young men were standing next to them.  I wondered if they knew what happened, if they had tried to help.  I hit the breaks and jumped out of the car and held him.  But Teoman didn't want anything near his hand .. . I knew that feeling.  Hugs didn't help the hurt.  On top of this, Tomris started crying - really hard.  She wanted me to hold her.  She had been fine - but I think she allowed herself to be afraid now that I came, and only wanted me.  I told the nanny to stay with Tomris but she said she wouldn't.  I didn't argue because I understood her feelings.  She suggested we take a taxi so I could hold Teoman.  I jumped back in the car and parked it, went back to pick up Teoman and headed to the street.  All the while, calculating my options.

Looking back on it now, even though I didn't do anything - I think my emergency training did come into play here.  I was somewhat logically considering - compress? ice? splint? bandage?  closest hospital? hospital I know?  It was a bit harder to figure in a child's emotions - but I could do that too.  He didn't want the ice, he slowly allowed himself to rest his hand on top of mine as a splint.  The hospital I couldn't decide - but that was the cultural factor - I needed Tolga's opinion because he would know what was better for this.  We called while on the way to the hospital I chose - and he ended up agreeing.  Teoman had quieted down now, but Tomris was in full swing.  She was trying to climb into my arms while our nanny was trying to redirect her and shield Teoman.  I had them both in my arms and it was a hot day.  It was Tomris's nap time too - so she had had it.

We got to the hospital, and when Teoman realized we were going to move again, he cried.  I could have cried to because I knew exactly how he felt - when you're in pain and find some relief, I wouldn't want to move again either.  I somehow paid the driver and climbed out with him...it was a bad day to wear a skirt.

It was the front door to the hospital, a great place for a dramatic entrance.  I suppose the private hospitals don't see as much in a day as a government hospital - but even so, they didn't lessen a finger emergency.  Someone opened the door for me, another person jumped up and escorted me down the hallway straight to an exam room.  Another nurse came in and began speaking with me in English from the start.
"Do you have allergies?"
Me?  Do you mean my son?  Does he have allergies?  Yes, that must be what she means.  "No."
"Are you on any medication?"
There's no way she means me.  Should I correct her English for clarification?  "No."
She directed us over to the sink to wash the finger - Teoman started crying, "No, no, no!"  This is my son.  These are my exact words when I think something is going to cause more pain - and when this happening to me, if I could do anything to stop them, I would.  But this is a new dilemma for me - I know EXACTLY how my son is feeling.  I for sure don't want them causing him more pain - but now I was the one, holding his wrist, forcing it under the water.  After a second or two - Teoman realized it didn't hurt - I wasn't sure if it would or wouldn't (okay, so I didn't know exactly how he felt physically) and so it was the slighted relief to realize this.  The ER doctor was young and cold.  He didn't touch it, just looked and wondered if he should call orthopedics.  I wondered later if he was the same one who had received me when I dislocated my shoulder a couple of years ago - because it was this same ER room that I had come too.  They sent us for an x-ray.  I notice our nanny in the hallway - she was crying.  At one point I sent my bag out to her, and had suggested my iPad for Tomris - who was still on verge of crying again - she was sniffling, red faced, and had her head on the nanny's shoulder.  (They had originally asked us which one was hurt).

I thought the x-ray was probably unnecessary, and said so to the nurse on the way there.  She said the bone may be broken, to which I answered - so what?  There's not much to do for that?  She said we'd splint it and asked, but what about the radiation?  She said, "you're right", as we continued down in the elevator.

I went to the x-ray room and had my hand x-rayed too.  Teoman was quite reluctant at first, but eventually - even understanding it was just a picture, he did not want to put his hand on the board - it all just hurt too much.  But he managed it, my brave boy - he even managed to spread his fingers in the weird angle they had asked.  I'm not sure how they go a clear picture though - considering he flinched pretty majorly when the machine made the "clicking" sound - or more like, radiation zapping sound.

The orthopedist came to the exam room shortly after and poked around the nail.  I had told Teoman just before he came that I didn't really like hospitals either.  Teoman smiled a little at this.  Teoman didn't cry and hardly flinched.  I was so afraid of what they might do - needle to the tender area, stitches, taking off the nail - but he did nothing.  He just determined there was nothing to do other than splint the finger because it was indeed broken.

They had trouble finding a splint that fit Teoman's finger - and the end the doctor said about the one splint, "kesecim" I'll cut it.  Teoman started crying at this - and the doctor understood why even before I did.  "No no, he jumped in - not you, the splint - we aren't going to touch your finger."  And Teoman immediately stopped crying.

My dear dear dear boy.

They splinted his finger and bandaged it up so gently.  As soon as it was wrapped, Teoman was still holding his hand up and he said to me, "I'm happy now mama."  And he even smiled.  The nurses loaded him up with balloons and lollipops to which he gladly accepted.  He wanted the lollipop and he wanted to go to the park.... because I had told him that morning that I would take him to the park when I got home.

Our dear dear boy.

hair cuts

I am still writing occasionally, but I stopped posting because my topics are all over the place.  I would like to have a little more control.  A little more start, finish, circle back, closure.  A little less irrational rants...

Ho hum.

I look back on the last two months of my writing, and well - its just where I am at.  It's very honest - maybe more so because I wasn't "publishing" it.  But I want to see progression.

Double ho hum.

So I'll stick with, for now - what is progressing.  My days.  Our children.  Our beautiful little ones with those personalities and vocabulary and sentences and humor and tantrums that surprise us everyday.

Yesterday was a holiday - Youth Day.  I brought the kids with me to school.  Tolga came as well.  As we were preparing to go, Teoman disappeared.  I could hear his little feet pattering back and forth as he rooted around in different rooms.  I peeked in on him, and saw that for maybe the first time, Teoman "got ready" to go.  Which means, he found his Paw Patrol backpack and FILLED it with his toys - mostly cars.  The backpack was so heavy that when his Baba helped him put it on he fell over.

We brought their scooters to the school.  Tomris went inside with me for only a few minutes, then I left them both in the park to play while I watched the ceremony.

I say this on every national holiday - I wish America put more ceremony into holidays.  I suppose its making all the students and teachers come back to school on the holiday to attend a commemoration of the day - in dance, song, speeches, videos - this coordinated and concerted effort trains the students to respect the day, and reminds the adults.

I also got a hair cut today.  This is mentionable because it usually a 3-4 hour ordeal and so Tolga had to watch the kids (who refused to nap) while I had 3 hours of PEACE.  I love getting my hair done.  I love having my hair brushed and washed and brushed again, and snipped and styled.  I read a book.  A book!  They serve me tea and coffee, and I JUST SIT, and enjoy my book.  When I was younger - we had a hair cutter come to our home. (I suppose I can't say stylist when you're just coming out to cut five kids hair).  I hated those days and I would run to the bathroom and brush and brush my hair for her.  Our hair cutter would come to our house and rave about the boys hair and get to mine and yank on it and complain how snarly it was - then my mother would say, "Rachel, I told you to brush your hair."  It as so embarrassing to me, but every time it was the same conversation.  I have told my mother this several times in my adult life, and she always just dismisses me with a laugh.  I suppose it is funny, except its not, and to a large extent - I am still shy about getting my hair done.  I still judge a hair stylist as to whether they comment on my snarly hair or not.

I was getting my hair highlighted today and when the young helper took out all the foils my hair just piled up and tangled into large mess.  They were brushing it out and I heard the young helper comment at how snarly my hair was.  HORROR!  But the hair stylist dismissed him and said it was normal because ... and here is where I lost some in the translation - something about Turkish hair versus my hair and I guess because of how they highlighted my hair ... I'm not so sure, but I was defended either way.  So even though the highlights are too bright and he didn't ask me how I wanted it cut or styled - someone defending my hair was all I needed.  He could have colored it purple.

Tolga came with the kids at the very end my haircut.  Teoman sat on the chair to get his hair cut.  The barber originally said he wouldn't cut his hair because he was too young and he needed a razor, but then when he saw Teoman's hair, he changed his mind.  I'm not sure why he thought he could do it with scissors and not a razor, but whatever.  Teoman has only had his hair cut three or four times in his very short life, and he tolerates the cut and was even excited to get his hair cut today - but he still gets dead quite, kind of freezes with his mouth open, and flinches with each cut.  He also tries to dodge the hair dryer.

Tomris was watching and kept saying, "Not me!  Not me!" (in English). Which was funny because normally she is hollering "Me too!  Me too!"  The barber teased her a bit, offering to cut her hair.  She started crying with force.

I mean, come on, she did say - quite clearly - at least ten times, "Not me!"