On further inspection, it was a full-on gash that we decided deserved a trip to the doctor. Laramie called, made an appointment, confirmed our insurance was accepted and off she went. When she arrived, guess what. No deal on the insurance. Thankfully they were helpful and suggested the clinic down the road that would accept our insurance. Back in the car and down the road they went.
The doctor at the next clinic took a look at the gash and proclaimed it out of his scope and suggested it could even require a plastic surgeon. Now we are moving into Holy Shit-ville. And off to the ER where at least it is air conditioned.
At this point, Nana and Poppy swoop, take WPH and then Big Joe drives me to the ER to meet them. I arrive to find Harper in great spirits despite the ordeal and mostly focused on when she will get her popsicle. The girl has her priorities straight to be sure.
We wait and wait and finally the ER doctor takes a look and decides stitches are indeed necessary. He can do it but the Pediatric Surgeons are on their way so better let them handle it. More waiting. A whole lot of TV. More inquiries as to the arrival of the promised popsicle
The surgeon arrives, they dope her up with ketamine, put in 2 layers of stitches and we are done. After her world stops moving she finally gets the popsicle. And better yet, a belly full of peanut butter MILKSHAKE to end the night.
The stitches will dissolve, her smile is intact. One might not even know we spent half of yesterday in the ER. That is until she uses it to her advantage to manipulate her moms into giving her what she wants. We are on to her; we are playing right long!
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