We are biologically programmed to protect our young. There is something primal about our desire to see our children safely through life. It’s a power, straight from God, that can hold back the strongest tide and calm the fiercest storm! That’s where the term, “Mama Bear,” comes from.
I don’t have one of those incredible survival stories but I did have a moment, while on my own, where I summoned an unknown physical strength from deep within me. I’m a smaller built woman. I’m 5’5 and weigh around 116 pounds. I’m a tough gal but I don’t possess the physical strength required to lift an older child. My kids know this. They aren’t allowed to jump on my back as they do their Dad. If they barrel into me and throw their arms around me, chances are, I will crumple to the ground. My youngest actually sprained my wrist when she was a toddler while throwing a temper tantrum. Once, during a soccer game, my oldest daughter had the wind knocked out of her. The referee called me over. I attempted to pick her up and carry her off the field but she was too heavy. I ended up half-dragging her across the grass and embarrassing her.
We have a trampoline. I was nervous about buying one but for nearly three years, we had no injuries. A few years ago, right before school let out for the summer, I was sitting on the couch, reading a book when I hear my youngest daughter start calling for me from outside in our yard. I immediately stand up and I hear my oldest crying. Panic fills me. I know that cry. It’s the sound my daughter makes when she’s in physical pain. She doesn’t fake injuries.
I see her cradling her foot on the trampoline while sobbing. I scramble up the ladder and crawl onto the mat. I can see her ankle swelling up and turning a bluish black. Her toes also appear black and I breathe out a sigh of relief when I realize, her toes just have dirt smudges on them. I pull her across the mat and lift her down from the ladder onto the grass.
“Mom, I can’t walk!” She cries out.
I pull her up and she attempts to put pressure on her foot only to crumple to the ground in pain. I manage to help her hobble out to the car. My youngest daughter holds the doors for us.
As I drive, she’s howling from pain and from fear.
“Mom has this! You’re going to be fine!” I call back to her with adrenaline racing through my system.
We pull into urgent care and I’m not thinking clearly. All the front parking is taken. I’m panicking because I know we need a wheelchair but I also know I can’t leave my children unattended in the parking lot. If I call the clinic, I will just end up on hold for an hour and they will probably tell me to call 911.
My youngest daughter holds my purse for me and shuts all our car doors as I pull my daughter out. She’s crying and unable to hobble no matter how we try. I start darting around for any random person available. Anyone that can rush into the clinic and get us the help we need. The parking lot of course, is deserted.
I take a deep breath, summon all my strength and reach down with all the might this Mama Bear can muster. I pick her heavy body up in my arms and I carry her out of that parking lot, through the doors and straight into urgent care. I have no idea how I’m doing this. She’s heavy but my adrenaline is so high, I hardly notice. She stops crying and looks up into my face with her hazel-green eyes.
“Mom, how are you carrying me?” She chokes out.
“Moms have superhuman strength!” I tell her.
As I enter urgent care, all the patients stand up in fright. I know how I look. My face is sweaty, my hair is a mess, I’m in flip flops and there is a feral snarl on my lips. I might as well be Conan the Barbarian carrying a rag doll into the waiting room. The urgent care receptionist, rushes out to us and quickly helps me. She grabs a wheelchair and kneels down to comfort my daughter. I watch her eyes grow wide.
“Just hold on. I’ll be right back!” She exclaims and darts to the back office.
Moments later, a nurse comes out and we are rushed back before anyone else. It only deepens my belief that our emergency is serious.
The moment we enter our room, the nurse drops down and starts checking my daughters toes blackened with smudge from the trampoline. She checks for reflexes. My daughter can move them fortunately but I’m still preparing for the worst. The nurse suddenly smiles to herself.
“This is dirt right?”
“Yeah, it’s just smudges from the trampoline. It’s her ankle! Look at her ankle!”
“I see her ankle. We’re going to have the doctor come in immediately. We’ll probably need a few x-rays.” She lets out a small chuckle. “The receptionist came back in tears. She said your daughters toes were turning black!”
I smile at that and surprisingly so does my daughter.
“That’s just dirt. My kid is dirty!” I admit with a little embarrassment.
At least, those black filthy toes gave us first priority over the other patients in the waiting room. My adrenaline is still spiking as they wheel her out for x-rays. I’m picturing bone fractures, surgeries, a cast and a lonely summer in front of the TV. As luck would have it, she only ends up with a bad sprain and an ankle brace.
The nurse helps wheel her out to our car. My daughter is regaling her with the story of how I carried her into the clinic. How I have superhuman strength and how funny I am to have as a mom. The nurse smiles and lets me know that next time, all I have to do is swing my car around to the front. The doors will automatically open and someone from the clinic will be there to help. Whoops! At least, I’ll know for next time. In the meantime I don’t mind my daughters believing that I have superhuman strength. They know that I’m always going to protect them!
