. . . to remind you that you would rip out your own beating heart if a) you knew how to transplant it and b) your kid needed it.

Susan fell off the back of the over-stuffed chair in our living room tonight and hit her forehead on the window sill. It bled. Then it stopped bleeding quite precipitously, and I was pretty sure it needed stitches.

Since Spot has been throwing up mysteriously (well, the process isn’t very mysterious, but the cause is), I elected to stay home and Dick got to make the ER run.

I am happy to say that it was Dick’s fault (he pulled the chair out from the wall at Sally’s request without looking at Susan’s precarious perch) and that there was nothing suspicious (in terms of DCFS — I have a semi-real fear of them) about this injury.

I’m only glad it was Dick’s fault (similar to the time Sally had nursemaid’s elbow in Cairo) because usually it (the screaming, the impatience, the irrational frustration) is my fault.

The triage person looked at the cut for half a second and agreed stitches were needed. Eight of them, it turned out, along with five shots of anesthestic after Dick turned down general anesthesia. Sally and I prayed at home (why didn’t we think of doing that before they left for the ER?) and she wrote a cute letter to Susan. By cute I mean she embellished the letters with flowers and polka dots.

Dear Susan, I love you so much. I hope you are okay. Did the stitches go well? Love, your sister Sally.

We also cleaned up the house and watched some more Remington Steele. The first because cleaning (or baking) seems to be the thing to do for injuries or illness, and the second because, why not?

Susan was bouncing of the walls when she got home a couple hours later: the sign of a successful hospital run. These are our first injury-related stitches, though not our first drug overdose (Tylenol) or concussion scare (Sally had a CT scan a couple years ago). We have to go back in a couple days for inspection, and in five for stitch removal.

I don’t know if use of the old-fashioned, non-dissolvable stitches is an indication of seriousness or cheapness? Maybe some medical-type can enlighten me?

The nurse assured Dick that the cut was very good scar-wise; if it scars at all, it’ll be along the line of her natural forehead creases. As if my first concern is scarring! But I guess after the trauma is over it is a pressing concern. Wouldn’t want anything to affect her chances of being totally unblemished as a teenager.

The bandaid was completely unnecessary, but Dick had been promising her a bandaid for two hours, so, by golly, she got her bandaid. And the “rainbow care-a-bear” the nurse let her choose didn’t hurt either.

Is it better or worse for them to get injured in such a mundane way? I can make rules like Don’t run out in the street, and Don’t put your fork in the light socket. But Don’t climb on the furniture just doesn’t get much respect.

Anyway, we did remember to pray after they got home. Thank you for taking good care of our kids. We need all the help we can get.