Last night after work, I scurried home, relieved our young next-door neighbor babysitter, and collected Middle and Baby so that we could catch the last hour of Eldest's football practice.
I multi-tasked: While pushing them to practice in the double jog stroller (exercise!), Middle ate a cream cheese bagel and I ate a banana (supper!). Once I was finished with the banana, I ran (more exercise!). Lest you think I'm superwoman for running and pushing the double jog stroller with 60+ pounds of boys, lemme tell you this: The route? To football practice? Is all downhill.
(So not the point of this story.)
Oh, did I forget to mention that Eldest is indeed playing football again? Pop Warner. Tiny Mites division (same as last season). Hubby is also coaching this year. Because we're not busy enough, you know.
(That's not my point either.)
All the Pop Warner teams practice separately, of course, but in one big area.
Last night, there was a commotion at one of the other practices. The older boys. Someone was hurt. Two of the coaches from Eldest's team rushed over, as one of them is an EMT and the other is a firefighter. An ambulance was called. Word of the injury spread like wildfire. The boy couldn't feel his legs.
Practice was ended for all the teams, as we parents anxiously watched from afar.
Then we were instructed to clear the area. The Med Flight helicopter had been summoned and was going to land on the field.
A firetruck arrived, red lights flashing in the dusk. Police cars, sirens muted, lined up.
Meanwhile, Hubby and I were herding our boyz to the car amid the chaos.
A million questions ensued. It was hard to describe for them in an age-appropriate manner what was happening without scaring the shit out of them, but we did the best we could, explaining that an older player had been hurt during practice, and that they were quickly flying him to Boston to make sure that he was okay.
All this time, I was practically on the verge of tears. As a parent, I can't imagine any feeling worse than knowing your child is injured, not matter what the injury. (Hubby kept attempting to reassure me that they were probably just taking precautionary measures by Med Flighting him to Boston. Whatever. It was terrifying.)
Huddled safe in our car, at the boyz' suggestion, Hubby prayed out loud for the care and well-being of the injured boy, his parents, and the doctors who would be caring for him.
The helicopter roared overhead. Circling around in preparation for landing.
We watched it descend and then headed home to our Trenches. Safe, healthy, and very aware of how things can change in an instant.
Hubby just received an e-mail from the President of the Pop Warner League that summarized:
"As you are all well aware we had a injury occur at the field last night. I am happy to report the player is doing just fine. He is up and walking around."
What a tremendous relief for everyone.