Jarom's Friday night was eventful. Ten minutes after arriving at his Great-Nana's house in Salt Lake, he sustained this beauty of an injury. Luckily we were close to the Primary Children's Medical Center, so off we went, just he and Amy and I, for a good three and a half hour visit.
He was worried about it. He was very concerned about doctors and what they do. When we first go there, he said, "I don't want the doctors to make me die." But in the end he scored: ten stitches, a root beer slurpee, a stuffed moose, a "squirtgun" (syringe), and a bag of Cheetos from the vending machine.
On the drive home he called Mikie and Heather/Nana (sorry Papa, Adie, Joey, everyone else--by the way time we got off the phone with Heather and Nana he was fast asleep). He said some adorable things to them. He was very proud of his experience. One thing he said to us afterwards was, "Why did they use string to fix my head? My head's not made of string." He also kept saying that he "broke his head, and the doctors fixed it. They sewed it."
Here's the gaping wound. He was pretty mad about me taking this photo; I barely was able to do it (but he was so brave).
We held pressure the whole time!
At the hospital, already (almost) back to his normal self.
Playing. He actually played Leapster while we were there. It kept him occupied during the massively long hospital excursion.
Amy and Jarom on his hospital bed.
His doctor. She was incredibly nice and knew how to make Jarom feel better about the whole thing.
Spread-eagled, watching some cartoon on the TV.
Mother and son. Plenty of love going around here. Jarom kept telling both of us, "I love you, Mom," or, "I love you, Dad."
The cutest boy, even when beat up.
Wrapped like a burrito. They asked him if he wanted his arms free or to be wrapped like a burrito, and he chose burrito-style.
There's the surgery going on. He was really, really good. A tiny bit squirmy, but less so than I imagined he'd be.
The finished product.
And there he is with his loot.