A Story About Bruce

Lately, Bruce wants to wear Scott's ties to church. He's too sophisticated for his clip-on ties now.
But these pictures have nothing to do with the story. I was not carrying my camera at the time; and even if I was, I still wouldn't have had an extra hand to take a picture. But if I did, I would have a picture of a metal box mounted to a wall next to a crusty urine-scented elevator. On the box is a "help" button - a little ironic here.

Bruce, Phoebe, and I ventured out to get a birthday present for Bruce's friend. We took the train and were planning on going to a bookstore. We got off the train, exited through the turnstiles, and strolled over to the elevator. Bruce pushed the "up" button on the elevator and then, almost like he were dancing, turned around and smacked his head on the help button box. His head hit the corner and Bruce buckled at the knees. His face was mangled with pain, and he was drawing that big long breath before letting out a long sob. There was blood coming out of the spot where he bumped his head. It wasn't gushing, but it was oozing.

The elevator came and the doors opened.

A man selling popcorn a few feet away grabbed a cold Mountain Dew out of his fridge and offered it for Bruce's head. I picked Bruce up and tried to hold the pop can to his head, but that made him freak out more. Thanks, I tell the guy. He lets me keep the bloody pop can.

I carry Bruce into the elevator while somehow also pushing Phoebe's stroller. We get up to street level and luckily, Bruce's primary care doctor is less than a block away from this train station. I walk, carrying a sobbing Bruce and pushing Phoebe. We cause quite a scene: some random guy tells me that Bruce's head is bleeding and everyone is looking at us.

We make it up to Bruce's doctor's office. I plop Bruce on the receptionist's desk and tell her we don't have an appointment, but that we'd like to see a doctor right away. A nurse comes out and pushes the stroller back into a patient room while we follow, telling our story along the way. She brings the doctor in.

Bruce is terrified that he is going to get a shot for some reason, so he starts sobbing harder. I tell Bruce to give me a big hug while the doctor cleans his head off with water. She cleans up his wound and says that normally she would put steri-strips on, but it would require shaving part of his head and he was already so traumatized that perhaps the best thing to do would be to just keep it clean for the next day or two and let it heal. She gives me a couple wads of gauze, a prescription for ice cream, and tells me not to shampoo his hair for awhile. Bruce is glad.

We get his ice cream and go sit outside to eat it. Bruce's head is oozing again, so I get out the gauze and clean up his wound while some curious - and probably grossed out - onlookers gawk. Bruce feels better, so we head to the bookstore to get the gift.

Bruce picked out an airplane, which he played with all the way home. We have yet to wrap it and actually take it to his friend. Before I wrap it, I'll be sure to clean the blood off.