Designated Support Person

I've been raising my grand kids since they were little and March 27, 2022 was a difficult day. Faith had a meltdown, escalating quickly into cursing and aggressive behavior. I called the crisis team and a counselor came out. Things calmed down.

While the counselor was here, Michael, a little boy came over wanting to play with Zach. He’d met Zach at the park the day before and had come over for a while. I was uncomfortable with him being here because he seemed so young. He looks like he's eight, though he told Faith and Zach he's older. Zach is almost thirteen, so that's quite an age difference. Shouldn’t his parents know where he was?  This time, I told him we were having a family issue and it wasn’t a good day. Zach agreed to take some Nerf guns with him to the park.

Soon we got a call from Zach. Michael had gotten mad at Zach and his friends and had bitten several of them. Then he’d taken off with some of Zach’s Nerf shooters. As we talked to Zach, the boy showed up at our place with the toy guns. He wanted to stay and play and I repeated that it wasn’t a good day. In time, Zach came home and Michael showed up for the third time wanting to play. “You need to respect my boundaries,” I said a little vehemently. Faith and Zach walked him home and explained to his mom that  there’d been some problems and that I should meet the parents before he came over anymore.

I was stressed. 

Zach went to play with  Henry, a boy closer to his age. Faith and I watched a favorite Netflix show together and I began to mellow out. Soon, Henry’s mom called in tears. “I’m so sorry,” she said, “but our dog bit Zach in the face.” She walked him home and showed me the bite marks. “He might need a stitch or two,” she said, offering to take him to the doctor.

“I probably better take him,” I said, thanking her and accepting her apology. The Urgent Care places were closed on a Sunday evening, so off we went to the Peace Health Emergency Room. “I need this like a hole in the head, (real original)” I complained. “I know you can’t help it that the dog bit you, but this has been a freaky day. And I’m getting tired of taking you to the doctor.”

“Do you think I get hurt on purpose?” he asked with a smile on his face. He knows I love him.

“Of course you do. You’re a boy. You invite hurt.” There was the fractured foot just last month that almost derailed special plans  and last summer, I had to postpone guitar lessons when he fractured his elbow.

“When we check in at the ER, they’re going to say: Hi Zach, I see you’re back.”

Of course they didn’t say that. They checked us in, putting a wrist band on each of us and directing us to take a seat until we would be called in. We watched as one patient after another walked in. A cute little boy, well kept  in jeans, a nice shirt, and hiking boots came in holding a cloth to his nose. His shirt had blotches of blood. His mother, a young pretty brunette, knelt to comfort him. When they checked in, Zach was able to overhear the story. A baseball game. A bat. A nose gushing blood.

A young man came in, carrying what looked like a puke bag. He checked in and was given a wheelchair; he wheeled himself to a corner of the room to await being called. Soon an attendant came out and we heard, “He’s passed out!” He was suddenly surrounded by attendants and taken off for care. “It’s like we’re in an episode of Night Shift (Faith’s favorite medical show)” I told Zach. “We could be here a while.” 

To my surprise, we were called in a few minutes later. A physician’s assistant inspected his face. “The two puncture wounds are superficial,” she explained. “He won’t need stitches, but we’re going to prescribe an antibiotic to prevent infection.” I was relieved. We would be out of here by 8:00. I looked down at my wrist band. Black letters stood out against a yellow background: DESIGNATED SUPPORT PERSON.  “Look at my wrist band,” I said, “Am I supportive person?”

“No not really,” he laughed. I laughed too.

I’ll accept that, I thought. I don’t have to be perfect. And a little humor goes a long way.

Author's Note

This is one in a series of stories I'm writing in a new book "Raising Grandchildren".

Reviews

[Samuel Dickens]

That day wasn't just rough--it was downright turbulent! As a designated support person, I'd say you excelled. Not just anyone could have kept things together under those difficult circumstances. I guess you ascertained the dog's shot record?

[Shelley Warner]

Thank you, yes there have been some turbulent days, especially when my granddaughter has meltdowns. I did find out that the dog was up to date on shots. Thanks for reading.

[Chris Shaw]

Of course you are a supportive person and he knows it. Just him pulling your leg. An essential quality for raising grandchildren is a good sense of humour. That helps with the generation gaps. I smiled. I have spent so much time over the years in A and E. We raised three grandchildren. They must like us, they are still here. Age 21, 23 and 27. No sign of them leaving the nest yet. Being a carer can be hard work but the rewards are huge. You never stop learning. Delighted you are writing a book about your experiences Shelley. Well done you.

Chris

[Shelley Warner]

Thank you Chris, I enjoy your reviews. Wow, you've raised grandchildren too. Yes, we do spend time in the ER when we're raising kids, lol.