Helping a Child Stay Calm in Emergencies

Our first visit to the emergency room happened when my three year old daughter fell off a wooden board. It had been resting on top of a round log of firewood, and when it tipped – so did she. I had a small play group at the time, so five other children were with me, and now my daughter was crying bitterly. I was alone.

My gut reaction was that she had not broken a bone, but I could tell right away that it was not a normal bump. I called a neighbor and tried to soothe my sobbing child – while still maintaining a responsible eye on the others. “Listen children,” I said, trying to calm my voice, “our friend is hurt and I need to take her to the hospital. Our dear neighbor will come and play with you till your parents can pick you up.”

On the way to the hospital, my daughter was inconsolable. Riding in the back, strapped to a booster seat, didn’t help. I was frazzled. Decades later, with thirty years of teaching under my belt, I’ve navigated dozens of injuries, but at the time I was new and scared. As I sped down the road, I wanted my child to feel safe. I wanted to feel safe.

On a whim, I began a story about my daughter’s cat Lucy, whom she loved dearly. “Little Lucy is at home with all your friends,” I told her, “they are making a special healing bread for you,” a task I had mentioned to my neighbor which would occupy the children till their parents arrived. “But I will tell you a story on the way to the hospital,” I continued, “would you like that?”

Through her tears she mumbled a quiet, “yes.” Truth is, I needed to calm my nerves and drive, and I thought the story would help us both.

“Once Lucy had a friend who was a little fairy. She had a very busy mom and sometimes the fairy would run off on Lucy’s back. They had great adventures, but one day it happened that the fairy fell off Lucy’s back and broke her wing. Poor Lucy was worried and thought it was her fault. The little fairy winced and said, ‘Quick, get my mother.’ But mother was busy teaching fairy school.

“‘I know, I’ll run with you to the hospital,’ said Lucy, and she picked the little fairy up with her mouth – just like a little kitten – and placed her carefully on her back. When they finally made it to the hospital, the fairy was crying and hurting just as bad as you.”

“But you’re taking me to the hospital,” my daughter said, “not Lucy!” She was still sniffling, but I no longer heard anguish in her voice. “That’s right,” I answered, “and soon everything will be alright.”

When we got to the emergency room, the nurse gave me papers to fill out, so I continued my story. “Well, even the little fairy had to fill out paper work, but guess what – she could not write and neither could Lucy the cat!”

“Oh No! What did they do?”

“Well, someone sent for the fairy mom to come, and Lucy felt really bad that her little fairy friend had to wait.”

“Did she come?”

“She did.”

“What about Lucy the cat?”

“Well, Lucy was so worried that she had done the wrong thing that she got a stomach ache and needed to get some tummy medicine from the doctor.”

“So, she had to fill out papers too?”

Finally, we were taken to see the doctor. He was friendly and asked my daughter about the accident. In turn, she asked, “Do you know the fairy that had a broken wing?” The doctor laughed kindly, and said, “Oh yes, she was here last week and is all better now, just like you will be.”

I appreciated having a playful doctor, but he looked at me, wrinkled up his nose, and said, “We will have to take an x-ray.” As a nurse led us into the x-ray room, my daughter asked, “Did the fairy have an x-ray too?”

“Oh yes,” I told her, “and she asked if Lucy could go with her, but guess what they said?”

“What?”

“‘No cats allowed!’”

“Why?”

“They distract the nurses.”

After the x-ray, we learned that there was no break but we still had to get a cast on the sprained elbow. My daughter was given pain medication, which helped, but the story had given her something more. It calmed her and gave her a soothing structure with which to navigate each new and strange experience. Most importantly, it let her know that she had my full attention.

“When we get home,” I told her, as we finally walked out to the car, “I will look to see if I can find the fairy’s foot prints, and maybe she can visit you while you rest.” My daughter looked forward to that. “And I can have Lucy sit on my lap,” she said, “and she can purr and make me feel better and I will tell her stories.”

“Yes, you will do that!”

I created a little fairy friend that night for my daughter – with a little cast on one wing – and left her out for my daughter to find the next morning. That little fairy, and the story she held, helped both of us cope with the challenges of the cast over the next few weeks.

One of the principal features of storytelling is its ability to capture and redirect a child’s attention (or an adult’s). Elsewhere, we refer to this as the storytelling loop: if we start with a normal set of circumstances, then introduce a story, we usually return to the same set of circumstances with a new perspective.

For the beginning storyteller, this usually means whimsical stories intended to entertain and foster creative outlets for play. Stories like that will likely remain the bedrock of every storyteller’s practice, but as your craft develops you will begin to see storytelling opportunities in a variety of circumstances.

Stories are inherently soothing. No matter the subject, they give an ailing child attention, and they do so without drawing her focus onto the problem. Children who have been injured, ill, or suffered some emotional trauma can quickly become fixated on the problem. We see this in behaviors as diverse as a two-year-old’s tantrum and a preteen’s despondency. Both can be greatly aided by story. The emotional intimacy helps them feel connected, calm, and sometimes a little stronger.

Unfortunately, this was only one of our emergency room stories. In the end we would always laugh, and say, “Isn’t it great that we didn’t hurt our lips or tongues, so that we are still able to tell stories to each other?”

As a kindergarten teacher, I had many situations later on with children who were injured or sick, and also parents. Over thirty years of teaching, we had to navigate the death of children, the death of parents, and the tragic loss of friends, pets, and family that moved away. Storytelling has always been a guiding light for me, and today I believe that that first fairy story in that emergency room was critical training. Through it, I was able to stay calm, focused, and present. Sometimes, that is the best medicine.

Life is full of challenging moments, often unexpected. Next time you find yourself in a difficult situation, imagine that you are the storyteller. Breathe. Listen to the healing sound of your own voice. Drop into your heart and feel the love for the child before you. Trust yourself. Step into the unknown with a helper (a main character) of your choice: fairy, cat, angel, superhero, or whatever brings you fully alive and present.

Imagine there is a story, told through the mouth of the mother to her child, with the soothing vibration of her vocal cords.

Imagine there is a child, listening to the sound of her mother’s voice, the feeling
of being nurtured and healed through this sound that belongs uniquely to you, a sound that was with you, and only you, in the womb.

Imagine there is a child, hearing the voice of her father soften as he drops into his heart and becomes fully present.

Imagine there is a story, told by the caregiver, the aunt, the uncle, or babysitter, who sees through the eyes of the loving and tender adult.

Imagine the child, held in the story, the story wrapping around her like comforting arms, helping her feel safe and supported.

Stories like these are unfolding every day - in the home, in the car, in the waiting room, at the park, in the mall, the forest, a cave, the ice cream shop. If you listen closely, you will find them on the tip of your tongue.

The Storytelling Loop is a newsletter bringing you tips, science, and real-life examples of how storytelling builds the connection between parent and child. It is a joint project of Silke Rose West and Joseph Sarosy, the authors of How to Tell Stories to Children. Originally self-published, the book is due out from Houghton-Mifflin later this year.