Something nasty happened on Monday. Specifically, something nasty happened to Riley.
It’s going to be difficult to talk about the accident because it occurred during an event at a place I want to have a close relationship with over the coming years and I don’t think it particularly prudent – or necessary – to name names here. This is the opposite feeling to some others of my acquaintance, who’ve suggested I DEMAND RETRIBUTION.
But, no. That would hardly be a rosy start to the relationship, and as I’ve been at pains to stress, {THIS PLACE} could just as easily turn around and say to me, “Actually, it was your fault for not supervising your child properly.” And they may be right: those few seconds between my listening to a talk, and then turning around to talk to another parent, were all it took for my son to slip away, spy a silver water dispenser, think it was the same as every other water dispenser he’s seen, hold up a cup to it, pour the water, and put it to his mouth.
Except this silver urnie was full of boiling water.
When I heard the scream from the other room, I had this thought, “That sounds like Riley, but I’ve never heard him scream like that before. That was a scream of pain.”
Then I saw my friend dash to the scene and I suddenly knew it was him. Then my world keeled over.
******
This is a lucky shot. Riley moves so quickly when the flash is off that I have dozens of blurry shots to every one that’s in focus.
Not so on Monday, when he was in this position here on the bed, or on the lounge, from the time we arrived home from getting treatment at the chemist. His skin began to peel immediately. He didn’t eat. The only positive was no water entered his mouth. As the days have passed, the scabs have formed, split and lifted, and generally looked disgusting.
Worried, I went to the doctors to get some advice yesterday. Do you know what he said?
“At least it wasn’t sunburn.”
“What?”
“It is a burn, which is nasty, yes, but – unlike sunburn – it didn’t have any of the ultraviolet rays which can damage the cells which later turn into skin cancer. And at least it wasn’t boiling oil.”
“Right.”
“And his lips won’t scar. What might scar is the surrounding skin.”
He printed out a prescription for an anti-bacterial ointment and left us with this thought:
“All things considered, it could’ve been worse.”
******
Was it my fault? You probably have an opinion. I’m not interested in assigning blame, really.
Because?
SHIT HAPPENS. ACCIDENTS HAPPEN.
Sure, earlier this week I might’ve thought differently, but as much as I wish it didn’t happen, I also know that it can’t be undone either. We just have to move on.
My husband has a scarred lip himself, thanks first to a boyhood biking accident and then later a fistfight. His thoughts?
“Well if it does scar, chicks dig them.”
Right.
******
Feel better soon, my little man. You’ve been such a trouper.
