Autism and the ER

Last night was scary. Really really scary. I think I lost at least 2 years of my life. At least.

The hose of death

It had been a really good day too. Lorrie and I had cleaned all day, hanging out and looking foreword to watching the Boise State game we DVR-ed with friends while eating (healthy) finger food.

All that came crashing to the ground when Drew tripped over his fire truck while blowing on his trumpet (aka the vacuum extension thing) and ripping open the back of his mouth with it. I have never seen that much blood all over my kitchen. He was spitting it out in bucketfuls, screaming and totally melting down. My heart broke. I honestly thought at first that he had just cut open the side of his mouth, not realizing the full damage until he calmed down a little bit and actually showed me his mouth. I freaked out. I really thought he ripped out his tonsil. Omg I feel sick just thinking about it.

Thank God Lorrie drives. We grabbed him and Alynn, called Nayt to have him meet us at the ER and rushed my poor, screaming, shaking kid to the sterile and cold rooms of the ER. I didn't really think things though and didn't realize just HOW freaked out he would be. The poor kid was shaking so hard and refused to sit on the hospital bed. I actually had to sit on the floor rocking him and doing joint compressions while they did our paper work.

The one thing I love about our small podunk ER is that there is no wait. We had the whole staff in our room within minutes. (literally.) But they had no idea how to respond to an autistic hurting child. I was having a hard time controlling him when his daddy came swooping in like a knight in shining armor. He was able to hold him, which calmed me down, which in turn called Drew down.

The doctor came in, we had to hold him down to let him look in Drew's mouth, and that was it. He had a mouth laceration but it isn't so bad that he needed stitches. Drew is on an all liquid diet which lets face it, isn't a new thing for my picky eating kid. We didn't even get pain killers.

But it is better safe than sorry right? My poor boy ended up with ice cream for dinner, a smoothie for breakfast, and it will be jello for lunch.

The hardest part for me is the guilt. The horrible horrible guilt. I came home and cried. I am suppose to be the one protecting him, the one taking care of him, and the one who doesn't let this kind of thing happen. I know, accidents happen and it's life, but still, I feel guilty.

Now my poor sweet poor is in pain, can't talk, and enjoying his new diet while I try to not be to shook up over the whole ordeal.