My nine year streak of parenting children who did not require stitches ended on Thursday.
I had just gotten out of the shower when I heard Ben crying. Unsure if he really needed help or if he were being dramatic, I sent Emma to check on him.
A moment later, I heard her scream, “MOM!!!!!” I could tell from the tone of her voice that (to her at least), something serious had happened.
I ran to the front of the house to see Ben still crying, with a bloody spot on his face. I picked him up and sat him on the kitchen counter so I could get a better look.
He stopped crying then, but I could see right away that the skin on his cheek was split open. It wasn’t a scrape, it was split. I have little experience with these things, but I suspected he might need stitches.
But he wasn’t crying. And it wasn’t gushing blood. The blood had sort of pooled in the boat-shaped opening in his face. (Lovely, no?)
I called Wayne, who said I should probably take him to the hospital. I got dressed and then called the pediatrician’s office. They also said to take him to the ER.
(All pictures are from my phone. but I don’t know why they downloaded tiny. I moved them to the computer in the same way I always do, but they are inexplicably small. Sorry.)
Thankfully, Wayne was able to leave work. He met us at the ER. We were seen right away, and the staff all raved about how cute Ben was, especially after they heard he had gotten the cut while playing Power Rangers. (Using a wooden stake that you found in the garage as a sword is not a good idea.) The receptionist obligingly called him the Red Power Ranger for the duration of his stay. 🙂
I went back with Ben while Wayne stayed in the lobby with the girls. First, someone cleaned out the cut. They said it would sting, but Ben never made a sound.
We had to wait about 45 minutes to be seen by a doctor, but Ben just played on my phone and talked to me. At one point, he called me “cookie pants.”
Me: “Did you just call me “cookie pants?”
Me: “What does that even mean?”
Ben: “Oh, I was just being mean.”
Insults, preschool style. Another time, I asked him a question and he answered, “Nothing, girl.”
The doctor finally came to see him and said he would try to use the glue to fix it, but it might require sutures. He hinted to me that stitching a kid’s face is sometimes a bit traumatic and the parent is usually needed to hold the child still.
Um, yeah. Wayne’s turn to be back here.
I texted him and we switched places.
After another half hour or so, Wayne and Ben came out. Anxious to hear whether it had been glue or stitches, I asked (sort of stupidly), “Ben, what did you get?”
Ben: “A band-aid.”
Yes, and under that band-aid he had 4 stitches.
Wayne said he never cried. He squeezed Wayne’s hand, and when they asked if it hurt, he said it did. But he never cried or tried to get away or had to be held down….just sat there and let the man stitch his face. He is something.
He chose Taco Bell for lunch, and happily ate his burrito like nothing had happened. He has slept fine and never complained a bit.
This was our biggest trip to the ER so far, but I am thankful that it wasn’t worse.