The boy is back from Soul Survivor - helping lead a group of nearly 20 teenage kids to this wonderful Christian event.
We didn't hear from him all week. It's that kind of event - so much to do and take part in that there's no time for texting. Plus, that his phone ran out of battery.
There was still enough in it for one cryptic message, sent at midnight the first night: Cut my toe. Got 3 stitches in it though. Love you!
This mama didn't exactly go into overdrive, but the possibility of the wound becoming infected was uppermost in my mind. So when he returned a week later, it was no surprise to find that the wound HAD become infected. (No surprise if you've seen the state of the showers and the toilets at the campground where they were. Imagine a teenager's bedroom nightmare and multiply by 10,000.)
Trip to the doctor. Antibiotics and hot compresses. Inspection on demand several times a day. (Work out who the demand was from.) Comfort,encouragement, nursing, nurturing, reassurance,... ad hoc,ad lib, added to and multiplied...
I thought of putting a photo up here but, for the sake of everyone's sensibilities - not least the patient's - I won't.
PS Why is a patient called a patient, anyway? Surely this is paradoxical?