Last November, we were getting in the car to come home from our Thursday morning toddler group when I shut Isaac's hand in the car door. There was a split second of silence and stillness as we both realised what I'd just done before I wrenched it open again and he began to wail. He'd put his hand between the front and rear doors as I was putting Anna in her seat and as I'd slammed the rear door shut, it had trapped his fingers in the small gap.
I've never heard him cry so much or so long. We sat for a second on the pavement beside the car, just having a cuddle. But his hand was dirty, the wound was bleeding and starting to swell and I couldn't see how badly he was injured. I ended up popping him into his seat and driving the 200m down the road to go back into toddler group. I left Anna in the car (she's so amiable!) and dashed in to wash his hand up with cool, clean water. He was still crying at this point.
So I bundled them both into the buggy and walked down to the hospital. The receptionist took our details and asked how it had happened. When I explained, she smiled sympathetically and asked if I was ok. We were called into see the triage nurse almost immediately. She gave Isaac a good dose of paracetamol and ibuprofen and had a quick look at his hand. Then we went back into the waiting room to wait for the doctor. It was obviously a busy day, with lots of families coming into the department while we were there and frequent calls over the tannoy for people to go here or there. There wasn't much movement out of the waiting area though, most people came in and were just sitting waiting to be called. Over the time that we were there, Isaac perked up a bit and started using his hand more and more. He also found a little playmate to build towers with. By the end, he was playing almost normally and only seemed to remember his hand was hurt from time to time.