Fight or Flight: Love, Fear, Anger, and Profound Gratitude

As I sit here this evening, my body is still in fight or flight mode. Though exhausted, I have yet to decompress, after a day filled with a myriad of emotions. Just a couple days ago, I wrote this post about our 12-year-old son, Seth. It never occurred to me I'd be writing about him again so soon.

At 7:50 this morning, I sent him off to school with the typical "Did you brush your teeth?" and "I love you; have a good day!" I slipped back into bed to relax a bit and must have unintentionally drifted to sleep when I was awakened suddenly by my phone. "Is this Seth Erichsen's mom?" Yes. "Seth was hit by a car on his way to school. He is breathing, but that is all I know." Still in pajamas, I grabbed my big Montana winter coat that goes clear to the ground and raced out the door. Seth's school is very near our house; it would take longer to get the car out of the garage than to simply run. So run I did! I remember the cold air forced into my lungs as I ran and ran, and then the dream-like feeling as I approached the school and saw the fire trucks and ambulance, the paramedics, and the people gathered all around. How many times have I driven by such a situation? So many times. But this time it was my child. It was terrifying.

I ran straight through the crowd to Seth and was overcome by the flood of instant relief as I found him conscious, crying, but able to talk to me. A prayer of thanks in my heart, I held his hand and reassured him that all would be well, that the paramedics were taking good care of him, and that Heavenly Father was watching over him. They told me I could ride in the ambulance next to him. As I buckled myself in, I flashed back to my only other ambulance ride with Shulamith nearly 25 years ago. How grateful I am to these amazing professionals. Not only did they do exceptional work caring for Seth's physical needs, but they were so kind to both of us. The hospital is not far, but the trip seemed endless. All the way there, one medic continuously reassured me as he took Seth's vitals and watched for any signs of concussion. The other one talked to Seth about all sorts of things to keep his mind off what was happening: Christmas, video games, school.

At the hospital, we received the same wonderful care from the ER nurses as they examined Seth. The physician was equally caring as she used ultrasonography to check his internal organs. Can I just say that ultrasounds are not nearly as fun when you don't see a baby in there, but we were happy enough to hear her say everything looked perfectly normal. She showed Seth his kidneys, his bladder, and I can't remember what else. All was well on the inside. He also suffered no broken bones or any other injuries, beyond some nasty road rash on his elbow and hip. I've seen worse, though, when Eli falls off his long board.

He was discharged within an hour, but not before we had a visit from the police officer who was covering the accident. After receiving such gracious and loving care from absolutely everyone we encountered up to that point, I was shocked by the behavior of this officer. He walked into the room and did not so much as ask Seth how he was feeling or if he was okay. Yes, it was obvious Seth was not in any imminent danger, but still, he's a child and he was just hit by a car! The man didn't even say hello to Seth. Instead, he informed us that he had interviewed a witness, and then looking at Seth for the first time, he announced, "You are at fault in this accident. Even though you were in the crosswalk, a truck was blocking the view of the person who hit you, so she couldn't see you. You need to be more careful when you cross the street."

Seth, who was just starting to feel calm after this ordeal, crumbled to tears and asked us if we were mad at him. No! No! Of course we were not mad at him. But I was mad. Let me tell you that. I have had precious few interactions with police officers, but every one I've had has been negative, and this one was the worst. This man walked into my little boy's hospital room and told him it was his fault he was hit by a car while in the crosswalk in front of his school. This mama bear was seething inside, and big sister was no happier. It's a good thing the guy left when he did or he might have had TWO angry mamas after him. And he may not have lived to tell about it.

I'm trying not to dwell on that. Because it's not worth it. More importantly is the gratitude I feel that my baby is alive and well. It could have been so different. He played video games most of the day (thank you, Matt!) and then insisted on going to his Young Men's activity tonight. It was hard to let him out of my sight. He might be feeling fine, but Mom is still in hyper-protective mode. Fight or flight, remember? "Flight" gave me the ability to run fast and unceasingly from home to school this morning. "Fight" made me nearly attack a police officer in a hospital. Motherhood is certainly not for wimps.

He is asleep now. I just went in for the third or fourth time to check on him. How many more times will I do that before the night is over? I don't know. But I think I'll go again now...