Two years, three weeks, and one day....

My plans for the Memorial Day weekend included packing up as much of my belongings as possible so when "the call" comes, I can turn in my two-week notice and leave on a moment's notice.
"Whee."
As some of you who read this post (but do not comment) know, I plan to move to Illinois.
"Look."
My 82-year-old mother is now in a nursing home and I want to move there so I can move her in with me. I'll of course have to hire someone to help me out during the time I'm at work, which means I need a decent salary.
"Up." (hands in the air and then clapping.)
So my plans Sunday night included cleaning out the living room closets, packing boxes and storing them in the closet, and throwing away anything that I did not plan to move with me.
"Look, Mommy. Vrroom... Vroom."
I plan to stay up until about midnight, and rise at 7 a.m. Memorial Day to finish the rest.
It's after 10 p.m.
I'm sitting in my nightgown packing and Dion is playing with my step ladder, climbing up and down on the thing, clapping, throwing his hands up and pushing the thing around my dining room.
He's content, and I'm content that he's content because now I can concentrate on the packing.
(Crash)
"ARRGGHHH!!!!! CRYING!!!!! AAAARRRGGGHHHH
My attention has to be diverted from the packing because Dion is now crying. But wait, that doesn't sound like his usual whinnying.
I get up, run into the dining room to see that the step ladder has fallen and my son's finger is caught between the area where the two areas folds and becomes flush.
He's trying to pull his little finger out.
There's blood.
He's screaming.
I'm frantic.
When I finally get it open, there just seems to be so much blood. He grabs my white shirt. There is blood on it now.
I rush him to the bathroom and stick his right, ring finger under the water.
Why did I do that? I don't know but it seemed to be the right thing to do.
The water was turning red.
The gash in his finger seemed so deep to me.
I can't seem to stop the bleeding.
I had bandages in the house, but at that moment, I couldn't remember where they were. So I wrap his finger in paper towel and moving tape, stick a pair of pants on him and run then run to my bedroom to grab a skirt.
While I'm grabbing the skirt, I hear loud crying again.
Dion has taken off the make-shift bandage and his little finger is bleeding profusely again.
"Dion, please, don't take it off again. Please baby, no!"
So I again wrap his finger, this time with a wet one and the moving tape.
I know it was against the law, but I sat Dion on the front seat on the arm rest as I drive to the hospital. I wanted to make sure that he kept the makeshift bandage on. I also wanted to make sure that his hand was elevated in hope that would slow down the flow of blood.
And I wanted to comfort my baby.
Why didn't I stop him from pushing that ladder?
Why did I allow him to play with it?
We arrive at the emergency room about 10:45 p.m. I guess it took me about 15 minutes to get there, but I don't know.
A lady who has a little girl who appears to be about Dion's ages rushes past me and makes it to the counter just seconds before I do.
You have to tell the check in person the reason so they can determine what level you are on and when you will be seen.
Like an idiot, I wrote, "Two-year-old has a very deep cut on the right ring finger."
Why didn't I show that lady my son's hand?
Why didn't I say it was still bleeding?
After an hour in the waiting room, I went back to the counter and said, "How much longer? His finger is still bleeding."
And then I lifted him up and so that she can see the makeshift bandage that was now stained red.
We were directed immediately to a nurse.
Dion received three stitches in his finger - stings that will have to stay in his finger for 10 to 14 days.
He cried something awful when they gave him a shot to numb the area around his finger. I wonder if the pain of having a needle go in and out of that area would have been worse.
He cried.
I cried as I tried to sing to him and comfort him.
I felt bad.
After he was all stitched up, I heard the mother who had entered the hospital just seconds before us complain that her daughter had not been seen.
"I'm not saying that no child is more important than another, but come on, a boo-boo on his finger?"
I wanted to slap the dye out of her hair!!!!!!!!
As a precaution, his finger was also X-rayed to make sure the bone had not been broken since the cut was so deep. Thank God it was not.
At 3:30 a.m. we were handed discharge papers.
I placed Dion in his carseat and he slept all the way home.
Here he was, just two years, three weeks and a day old, and he had already been in an emergency room.
Wow.
I had forgotten I was cooking ribs. Thank God the house didn't burn down while we were gone.
Monday, he got ice cream and candy, two things he normally would not get. He was held so much and loved on so much and kissed so much.
Once, he even "laid" himself on the floor and said, "fall, mommy."
I know he did not fall, but I was impressed that he realized that he could milk that finger injury for all it was worth.
On Monday, we slept until 11 a.m. - four hours past my packing schedule. Because in the end, Dion is the most precious cargo I have.