And because it was the early 80's, my sister and I (who were probably ages 8 and 6 at the time) were fighting over who got to sit in the front seat. (Definitely without a carseat. Probably even without a frigging seatbelt.) I beat her to the punch (older sisters RULE!) and in her anger, she slammed the car door. On my foot. My poor little pinky toe was smushed! Needless to say, we didn't make it to the town pool that day.
But ever since then, I have had a fear of slamming doors. My children are pretty much not allowed to even SHUT their bedroom doors, lest a stray finger or toe get in the way. Car doors petrify me too.
Hell, doors in general cause me angst. When I was home from college over the holidays in the early 90's, I awoke in the middle of the night and was thirsty. I headed downstairs to grab a drink of water, neglecting to don my (coke bottle) glasses. In my parents' house, there is a door that separates the front entryway/stair landing from the living room. This door was ALWAYS open. Except, on this particular night? IT WAS NOT FULLY OPENED. IT WAS MERELY AJAR.
And I walked straight into the corner of the door. The crash awoke everyone else in the house. Somehow I had managed to hit my forehead and eye. I had a black eye for 2 weeks after that. It looked super sweet in all our Christmas pictures that year, lemme tell ya.
Obvs not me, but yes, that's what I looked like. And then it was ohsofun to explain that I WALKED INTO A DOOR.
So anyway, today our family was invited to a birthday party. We hadn't even been there for 15 minutes when all of a sudden there was a BLOOD CURDLING scream. I could tell immediately by the sound that it was one of MY boyz. Hubby sprung into action while I did the opposite. I froze.
Hubby bounded up the stairs to a gaggle of little boys on the landing. Middle was screaming hysterically.
His pinky had accidentally gotten slammed in a door.
By the look on Hubby's face, I could tell it was pretty bad.
All I could think of was that his finger had gotten sliced off. I remained frozen in place.
Hubby whisked him down the stairs and into the kitchen. They ran his finger under water and he screamed even louder, if that was possible. I still couldn't look, but did my best to try to console him and wipe away his streaming tears while his body quivered and twitched in pain.
Finally, I looked.
Hubby and I rushed home with Middle (it was just down the street) and I immediately called our pediatrician's office. He advised us to stay put (I was totally ready to head out to the ER so someone could just FIX MAH BABY), dose him with Tylenol, wrap his pinky to his ring finger, and ice it down.
I have never ever seen any of my children cry that hard. My heart was breaking that I couldn't console him or make it better. I cried right along with him.
Once the Tylenol (finally) kicked in, he calmed down a bit.
But I? Was a big, sopping puddle of mush. I could NOT pull myself together. Even just typing this I am having full body shivers thinking about the "what ifs".
Tomorrow we will head to our pediatrician so he can have a look at it. It is now starting to swell (even more) and bruise. I don't *think* it's broken, but you never know.
It's his right hand. Of course it is.
And that is why I am having every single door in our house removed from its hinges tomorrow.