Michelle Rockwood :: WHY DIDN’T YOU HELP?
“U
h... mom?” my four-yearold son’s voice quivered. I glanced up to see blood quickly running down his forehead, seeping through his blonde hair. I tried to move, but my legs were like lead. I couldn’t understand what was happening; my brain couldn’t react. I stood frozen. “I’m bleeding!” he said. Finally, I grabbed a towel, put it on his head, and laid him down, but the bleeding wouldn’t stop. Ambulance? Drive to the ER? There were two additional kids at home, one a newborn. “Think, Michelle, think.” I dialed 911, had my older son run to the neighbors, and then somehow — within what seemed like seconds — my mom arrived, and my son and I drove off. I can still picture him in the rearview mirror, so unaware of the severity of his cut, his little body only partly strapped into his car seat as he held a towel to his head.
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