Stitch in Time

Everyone says that G is "all boy" and he is, 100% boy.  But I didn't know that would include a second set of stitches in less than six months.  I didn't know that it meant that we would have 5 trips to the ER in two years or that my sanity would be tested every time...

It was a normal Wednesday afternoon, G had been up from his nap less than a half hour and he was in a fabulous mood.  I was in the nursery going through a box of baby mementos for his scrapbook.  I was showing him the baby sock I saved and the tiny little shirt the hospital put on him.  Apparently the cardboard box was tempting G, I saw in my peripheral vision his little toddler body trying to fit into the box.  Then a heard it: "WHACK."  Immediately I scooped him up.  His head had hit the door frame when he fell out of his box, and it was one of those silent, mouth open & drooling screams.  I ran downstairs for a bebe (pacifier), and kept him close to me, trying to calm him down.  Took a few minutes before I saw all the blood.  Grabbed a washcloth from the kitchen drawer and clamped it on his head.  I tried to remain calm, but blood & I don't get along.   I saw that the wound was gaping, not ambulance worthy but that it probably would need stitches.  But I knew that I couldn't drive in the state I was in, what with the shaking, the crying, and the panic.   I knew D was in a meeting & that his cell was almost dead.  So, I called my Dad.  No answer. (Later I learned that he had answered, but I couldn't hear him for all the screaming!) I called my mom, and tried to calmly tell her what happened.  She basically hung up on me trying to get out the door to get to me.  Dad called me back, said that he was on his way to get me.  I called a neighborhood friend, in fits of crying hysterics to come help me.  The godsend that she is, she came and put my shoes on, got the diaper bag together and helped distract me from noticing the bleeding child I was holding.  (Thank you, dear friend!!)

My Dad drove me to the ER, my mom followed behind.  It was busy, we got there right at 5.  At 5:30 they were asking for insurance info, and it was after 6 before we saw the triage nurse.  Good times.  ER waiting rooms are always interesting, and being our 5th trip, I was a little oblivious to the "usual suspects."  But what did make our trip exceptional was the C-R-A-Z-Y lady that was in the shared room when they finally took us back...  G waved at the officers at the door, it didn't take long to figure out that they were there for the room mate!  fabulous.  She was drunk, according the nurse she couldn't have the pain medicine she was asking for because her blood alcohol level was .333!!  Crazy Lady said that she didn't have "nothing" to drink all day, but that 'the cancer" makes her liver "hold onto alcohol."  Really?  Later, the nurse came to let her know that the lab said that her urine sample was just water.  Her response, "you mean I peed water?"  Really?  She kept praying, loudly, for "Jesus Christ" to "save me" which the officers would tell her to calm down or shut her trap, my favorite " Jesus can hear you whisper too, ma'am."  She must have failed her psych eval, because shortly after that she was wheeled out.  And then two sweet college girls moved in, probable case of mono.

The doc said that because his "laceration" was up and down, it would definitely need stitches.  And we had two options.  1) Give him an IV, put him out, stitch him up and wake him back up.  For stitches Thanksgiving, that was our only option and they couldn't find a vein for the IV,....  then he puked all over me... Or 2) Hold him down, numb it and stitch it.  I will take option 2.  So, two nurses came in and "pillowcased" his arms to hold him down.  Then the doc started his fancy work.  Stitch #3 came out when Grady vomited and the nurse yanked him up to prevent aspiration.  So, stitch #3 had to be redone.  But after 4, it was all over.  And G was mad.  But it was over.  We got home sometime after 8.  G had 6 saltines, some goldfish & apple juice for dinner in the room...  well, that is what he threw up anyway.

so, here he is in his glory.  Four stitches in the back of the head ...  and now four in the front.  All boy.  And this is apparently what I need to get used to?