Why I am not a health professional

Saturday evening, Dan and I are watching Nathan play soccer. Only we're watching from the warm cab of the pickup, while all the other parents are huddled under blankets, sitting in the cool spring air. I feel as if I'm getting away with something. Why do I feel like I'm cheating?

Last play of the game, we see Nathan go down, hard onto the field, along with another boy on his team.

"Is Nathan hurt?" I immediately ask.

"Nope...that's his teammate" Dan says.

A few seconds later, Dan's cell phone rings. It's the team's trainer. "You may want to take Nathan to the hospital for some stitches." she recommends.

This is the point where I realize, again, God's wisdom in giving a kid two parents. Call me in whenever you have a fashion crisis. Wanna talk about your boyfriend/girlfriend? Here's my card. Need ideas for your English paper or maybe some poety expressions for your project due next week? That's my area.

Just don't give me blood.

Nathan is composed. Heck, it's almost a rite of passage with soccer guys. Whomever thinks that soccer is not a contact sport has evidently not watched teenag boys scrabble. He slowly walks to us and I'm already feeling squemish. Just the mention of blood and I'm ready to lie down. Mention blood in the same sentence with one of my kids names...I'm ready to hurl.

He turns and I get my first full look-see into the cavity just above his upper lip. A bright red hole just under his nose, dripping blood onto his soccer shirt. I'm thinking, singsong in my head "Mamma gets whites, white like the sunshine..." The soccer field begins turning. Or is it me that is turning?

Dan goes into full throttle parent-alert. He grabs Nathan, pulls a rag out of someplace and before I can hit the pavement, we're on our way to the emergency room. Dan driving, Nathan in the middle, me near the window..need I explain why?

I can't help but want to look. My first born is bleeding! There is blood all over the rag and my eyes are drawn to it..I cannot look away, although I'm grimacing and starting to heave.

"Dad, just take mom home, she's totally useless." Nathan says. He means well, he really does. The problem is, he's absolutely right. I can sit at home and man the phones...put out an all points alert, watch Saturday Night Live...ANYTHING but sit and watch my kid get sewn up.

Several hours...and seven stitches later...they return home. I'm crashed, having exhausted myself in "Mother Worry Mode". Nathan finds me on the couch.

"Hey Mom...I got stitches" he reports. I think there is a sense of pride in this statement. I'm sure the story will get lots of press in the upcoming days. He and his buddies around the lunch table, Nathan saying, "I was going down the field and then..."

"Yeah, I know" I say. "Tough game".

"You going to be OK?" he asks.

"Yeah" I say. "You?"

"Well, it's gonna make some things harder." he says.

"Yep. Guess you won't be playing in the band concert this week. And you'll probably miss tomorrow's game."

He looks a bit sheepish. Then I get it.

Girlfriend.

Swollen Lips.

This time its my heart, not my stomach, that does flip flops.