Fear Overrides Pain

My youngest son has a cheeky habit of spilling water out of his sippy cup.

It's annoying. Usually because it's a pain to constantly clean up water. It also creates dirty footprints.

Annoying.

But yesterday, the problems associated with spilt water increased somewhat.

As I picked up speed to catch up to my little monster for his nappy change, I slipped on said water, and before I knew it felt a pain so searing, it seemed as though the world around me was disappearing.

I couldn't quite tell where the pain was coming from, but I did know that I'd hit the corner of our stone bench top on the way down.

I knew my vision was fading, the room was spinning and I felt close to losing consciousness.

But I only had one thing on my mind: get to a phone.

Get to a phone before you pass out, leaving your two little boys to fend for themselves for God knows how long.

As it was I could already see terror in my eldest son's eyes and inexplicably my youngest ran straight for the Christmas tree and pulled it over, breaking a glass bauble and sending me into further panic that he was going to cut himself.

As I tried to remain composed and encourage my boys to help me find the phone (near delirious I had no idea where it was), I pulled my hand away from my head, only to find it covered in blood.

Unaware of where it was coming from, all I could think about was getting someone home for my kids.

Since becoming a mother, it's been one of my greatest fears that I might become unconscious, leaving my boys alone and scared.

But although it's been a horrifying thought, in all honesty I didn't really consider it a likely possibility.

Until now.

As it turned out, the top of my cheek bone hit the corner of the bench.  It was pierced and required stitches.

Despite my confusion I was able to get to the phone and my husband, who had only just left for work, was home quickly and we were off to the hospital.

Had I fallen two inches to ether side, I could have hit my temple, or my eye and could easily have been knocked unconscious.

My children would have had no idea what to do. We have never discussed it.

It's now a top priority to teach my boys what to do if Mummy isn't ok.  To them how to use the phone and call 000.

I read about a case recently where a little boy's mother had been knocked unconscious, he'd remembered the emergency number from watching Fireman Sam and was able to save his mother - and perhaps himself.

There's no shortage of accidents that could happen with children unsupervised.  It's a terrifying prospect.

But while I was lying in the hospital with plenty of time to think, it hit me how much the fear for my children's wellbeing over-rid the intensity of the pain I felt.

My fear for them also kept me in control of myself and the situation, not succumbing to my personal fear of what condition I was in (at that stage I had no idea from where I was bleeding and could barley see in front of me).

I feel strengthen by this, as I usually panic easily, I don't handle pain well.

Today, while I feel worse for wear, with an achey body, sore head and unwavering groggy tiredness, I feel indescribably relieved that I didn't leave my children in an extremely vulnerable position, without any knowledge of what steps to take.

So now it's time to teach them.