The Pony gave us quite a scare tonight. One minute, he was prancing down to the basement to eat his corn dogs in front of the TV, and the next minute we heard THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP down the basement stairs.
"PONY! Are you OK?"
"noooo ooo ooo..."
"He's not OK!!!"
I ran to toward the stairs. Olympic Sprinter H elbowed me out of the way. He bounded down the stairs at such a rate I was afraid the same fate would befall him as had befallen The Pony. I looked over the railing. The Pony was a crumpled pile of pitifulness at the bottom. He was kind of laying sideways at the bottom step, with a red pool spreading around his head. Trauma Team Captain H gasped.
It was only the ketchup from the corn dogs. Though one of the corn dogs had impaled itself on its own stick. The Pony gasped that it was hard to breathe. He said his back hurt. Napping-In-First-Aid-Class H grasped The Pony under the arms, and lifted him up. He wheeled a computer chair over and sat him down. The Pony leaned forward. He was gasping for air.
By this time, I had rappelled down the 13 wooden stairs which have remained rail-less since I first started demanding a rail 11 years ago. Right after we moved in. The year The Pony was born. Oh, they're normal stairs. It's not like they're captain's stairs, or a rope ladder. But they go down through the big (railed off) rectangular hole in the living room floor with nary a knob to grab onto if you lose your footing. I don't even allow my grandma to walk down them. When she comes out for Christmas, I have Chauffeur H drive her around to the basement door so she only has to stay on that one level, where we have the tree and presents.
But let's get back to The Pony. He was sweating bullets, hotter than a pepper sprout. He was shaking, and complaining that his back between the shoulder blades, and his chest, both hurt. He said it was hard to breathe. I smoothed his sweaty forehead. What else is a mother supposed to do? After a couple of minutes, he sat back. He got kind of pale and clammy. His shaking subsided.
We were in a quandary. Do we take him to the ER to get him checked out? Or do we watch him for signs that his symptoms worsen, and then take him? What to do, what to do? We are watching him closely. I don't want him to have a broken rib, or a pneumothorax, or cardiac tamponade, or a dissected aorta. I really wish I had not watched all 15 seasons of ER. King Of The Castle H must wish he hadn't harped on the boys all these years to wear socks. He has conniptions if they run around barefoot in the house. The Pony says his socks slipped on the steps. CYA H says, "That's why I always told you boys to wear shoes in the house."
I'm hoping that The Pony merely knocked the breath out of himself, then had an adrenaline rush, and is now just sore. The part that worries me is that he says his chest hurts when he bends over to touch his toes, and that it's hard to get a deep breath in. But he fell on his butt. He has no marks on his back or chest.
Something tells me I will be monitoring The Pony's vitals all night.
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2 comments:
Ouch. A cracked or broken rib will definitely make it hard to bend over or take a deep breath. For me it also made it hard to raise my arms or do much of anything. An x-ray might not be a bad idea. I hope he just knocked the breath out of himself and got some bruises and knots.
Miss Ann,
The Pony reports that he can breathe much easier today, but that his stomach hurts when he jumps in the air. Why he has been jumping in the air, I'll never know. He told me this right after school, and he does not even have PE until next semester. I don't know what they're up to over in Basementia now that I can't keep tabs on them.
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