Next we moved to the emergency care facility, otherwise known as the bathroom. This is where the advanced medical techniques for treating these life threatening boo boos began. There was a washing and some anti-bacterial treatment, as well as liberal usage of the powerful pain killers "Aw honey you'll be ok" and big hugs from the well known boo boo specialist Dr. Mommy.
Treatment then moved to the bandaging area of the living room where dad could get a good look and administer more much needed sypathy and words of encouragement. which is probably not the best idea since dad comes from the "rub some dirt in it" and "walk it off" schools of medicine.
With over-sized bandages applied the victim of these devastating injuries proceeded to limp off in manner befitting the walking wounded. Which actually more resembled a one legged drunken zombie. George Romero would have wept.
For two days the horrible lingering effects of this injury meant my son's ability to walk was greatly impaired, to the point where passing neighbors, teachers and school mates looked on with pity.
On this second day, in the middle of one of my son's death marches down the sidewalk he saw his new friend Connie down the street and he called to her with joy and a smile. Then a miracle on the level of the Red Sea parting occurred. The leg dragging and hop-scotch like limp dissappeared as my son broke into a full sprint with not so much as a grimace or yelp. Yes, a true miracle in front of my very eyes, and funny enough not unlike the miracles that occur with boys of all ages around pretty girls. So ends my son's ordeal with his debilitating road rash and it appears he shall live to fall another day.
Of course the true lesson of this experience should be don't run in flip flops.
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