Guess who has Super Glue holding his head together? Oh, yes, we had some high drama here at the Musings household last night.
When Little D was at a friend’s house yesterday afternoon, he stumbled and fell and got a big gash in the back of his head. He came home by himself, walked right by me to go to the bathroom, saying a casual "hello" on the way, and when he came out he told me that the back of his head felt sticky.
I took one look and about fainted dead to the floor. The back of his head was a mass of red, gooey blood, there was blood splattered on the back of his neck, all over the back of his shirt, and covering his hands. It looked like a crime scene straight off of CSI. No joke.
I didn’t want to alarm him, because thankfully he was calm, but I was gagging as I investigated, trying to find the source of the bloodbath.
Now, one thing about me. I’m worthless in a crisis situation. Totally and utterly worthless. I always figured when you become a mom, you just develop certain instincts, one of them being the ability to remain calm and in control in an emergency.
I heave at the sight of bodily fluids, I can’t think straight, and every bit of useful information that I might have owned just seems to fly right out of my head and into thin air.
Fortunately this was past the emergency stage of the situation. I could see that, although there was blood E-V-E-R-Y-W-H-E-R-E, the worst of the bleeding had stopped. And I seemed to recall that head wounds bleed a lot. So I managed to keep my cool as I gingerly moved pieces of hair to get a better look at the injury site, swallowing my own bile. I decided that we weren’t in any immediate danger, but it did look suspiciously like we could use some stitches.
My mind immediately started flying around, thinking of which neighbors were home and who might be able to help me determine if a trip to the ER was necessary or not. I couldn’t think of any nurses in close proximity, so I called on my neighbor the cop who was home sleeping off his night shift. Yeah, I know, I’m heartless. Poor guy.
Sure enough, stitches were in order.
Long story longer, Husband came home and took Little D to the ER. I know I could have hopped in the car and taken him myself, but I dunno, an evening in the ER with a lively 2-year-old and a talkative 4-year-old AND an 8-year-old with an open head wound just doesn’t sound like my idea of a good time. I mean, the goal here is to maintain what little sanity I have left while navigating the sea of motherhood.
Thankfully Husband was able to leave work and come to our rescue. And what would a trip to the ER be without a four-hour wait? After literally four hours in the waiting room, Little D got a CT-Scan, had his head glued shut (in the form of Dermabond, or, as my son said, "Mom, they put Super Glue on it!), and was sent on his merry way.
He got a trip to Blockbuster on the way home because according to Husband, the kid was a real trooper throughout the whole thing. And now he has a story to tell his teacher and classmates when he goes back to school tomorrow.
So. All’s well that ends well, I suppose.