Ouch!

Today is one of those days -- we had a little mishap this morning and I can still feel the sting. Dayssi was in a great mood today, excited about going back to school (it has been weeks) and feeling good. I was excited to have a morning free, to ride India to kindergarten on the bike, take India to the hospital for a relatively harmless finger poke, and then take her to school and hang around long enough for her to start getting comfortable again.

She was all excited on the way to school, and we agreed that I would stay until snack time -- specifically, when the teacher starts to read a book to the snack table -- and then I would leave her there. As we got closer to the classroom, Dayssi got a little more quiet, asked for her nana, and wanted to be carried in. She was feeling shy, hiding behind me, trying to walk between my legs holding both hands. But we got ourselves settled and skipped out to ride the swing, which is one of Dayssi's favorite activities at school.

We got to the swing area where, because of the recent rains, there were big red boards (like bridges) underneath each swing so that the kids wouldn't have to stand in what were, last week, big puddles of water. Now they are little shallow pools of thick mud. As I was saying hello to a teacher, and Dayssi was climbing onto the swing in some kind of silly way, she somehow fell off the swing and landed hard, face-first, in the thick mud underneath the red board. The first thing I heard was the dull thud of her forehead hitting the ground -- a truly horrifying sound for anyone trying to care for a child -- followed by a loud heart-breaking wail.

Is there no dignity for this child? Is it not bad enough that she has to miss out on so many aspects of what she should be enjoying at this time in her life, especially regular school and playmates, comfort with a social situation at school that is truly hers, where she feels she belongs, and that she has to tolerate regular hospital visits, pokes, gross medicines and their many side effects, when she sees clearly that no one else has to put up with this crap? That she knows she is seriously ill and that it makes her different? She fell off the swing on her face in the mud today at precisely the moment that was she trying to let go of her self consciousness, trying to act like a regular kid who belongs in that yard on that swing. Dammit.

I scooped her right up and held her on the grass, while she sobbed with her little muddy face buried in my sweatshirt, and helped her clean up with a warm rag and an owie sponge for the abrasion above her eyebrow. Some of the kids came around -- in particular, the same sweet girls who are always watching her and asking about her, who comment gently on her hair and ask why she has a pacifier, who seem worried about her, who want to be nice but usually talk more to me than to her. And she started to talk to them about how her dad had an owie on his forehead last week but he didn't cry. Soon one of the teachers invited her to come and plant some seeds, which she did, and then very quickly seemed to recover. She was ready for me to go at snack time. And when I got to the office, I just bawled.