My 22-month-old son has been sick more times than I can remember. From ear infections to colds to his most recent bout with chicken pox. As if that weren’t enough the other day he up and cut his hand at daycare requiring a trip to the ER. The story goes like this. I roll up to the daycare jamming to Sunshine by Matt Costa.
I can see teachers outside cleaning up. One of them perks up when she sees me and bolts for the door. I get out of the car, make my way into the building, and BLAMMO! “I need to speak with you,” says the teacher.
She pulls me to the side and starts the convo with, “Everything’s OK,” follows up with, “Jose was playing outside,” and finishes with, “He’s in the infant room with Ms. Teacher who’s been holding a towel on his hand for the past thirty minutes to try and stop the bleeding.” Wait, what?
Bamboo strips around a garden
Apparently my son was bobbing and weaving through the bamboo strips that surround the garden plants. At some point he lost his footing, grabbed a strip of bamboo, and fell to the ground whilst holding the wood. If you’ve ever had a papercut you’ll be able to relate to the almost absent pain that follows such a cut. Jose reacted similarly.
When his teacher came over to help him, his hand was a bloody mess. Blood on the ground. On his shoes. On her shoes. On everything.
The teachers took Jose inside, wrapped the cut, and then proceeded to call everyone on the list of emergency contacts. They called my work, but not my cell. They called my wife (who was away from her phone) and left a message. They called his grandma Lynn (a super good friend), but she was also away from her phone. Since they couldn’t reach anyone they waited. And waited. And waited. 4o minutes would go by before I rolled up jamming to music without a care in the world.
After she explained the situation we walked back to the infant room to see him, and he was just blabbing on and on about trains and birds and everything under the sun but the huge laceration at the base of his ring and pinky fingers. I checked him out, made sure he was OK, then ran to my car to get my phone.
I called my wife. Then the pediatrician. Then Lynn. My wife was a good 40 minutes off. The pediatrician recommended I take him to the ER. And Lynn dropped everything and came to help as there was no way I could hold Jose’s bloody hand and drive at the same time.
The hospital was a blast. As I checked in I couldn’t help but think what was going through the receptionist’s mind.
LADY: What happened?
ME: He fell.
LADY: And?
ME: And he cut himself.
LADY: How?
ME: I’m guessing something sharp. Possibly wood.
LADY: And?
ME: That’s all I know ma’am.
LADY: Yeah, I’m gonna go ahead and call the police because your answers suck you rotten S-O-B.
ME: Great, thanks so much.
After checking in, we waited in the lobby for a few minutes before a nurse called us into an interrogation room to check Jose out (a euphemism for “ask more questions.”)
NURSE: What happened?
ME: He fell.
NURSE: And?
ME: And he cut himself.
NURSE: How?
ME: I’m guessing something sharp. Possibly wood.
NURSE: And?
ME: That’s all I know ma’am.
NURSE: Yeah, I’m gonna go ahead and call the police because your answers suck you rotten S-O-B.
ME: Great, thanks so much.
She took us to Room 10 where we met another nurse who turned on Nick Jr. and gave Jose a stuffed dog. A few minutes later she returned with another nurse who took Jose’s vitals. As they finished my wife burst through the door, grabbed Jose and began doing what mothers do.
Twenty minutes later I went to check on Lynn in the waiting room. Twenty minutes after that a doctor came in to see Jose, and proceeded to explain the situation.
DOCTOR: He’s gonna need stitches. Probably three in each. I’ll numb his hand with a topical agent, and if necessary, I’ll numb the area with a needle before the procedure. But, before I begin, I wanna make Jose even more uncomfortable so I ordered some X-rays. Provided there aren’t any splinters in the wound I’ll sew him up straight away.
Thirty minutes after the doctor finished her happy speech, an X-ray tech showed up and walked us over to get some pictures. I donned a lead jacked and held my less-than-cooperative son. Good gracious alive that was a miserable 12 minutes for everyone involved. Even worse, the lady promised Jose a popsicle and never followed through. They have a word for people like you ma’aa, and that word rhymes with stitch.
We were met back at the room by a nurse who wrapped Jose’s hand with a gauze soaked in numbing medicine. A solid 30 minutes later la doctora returned with two nurses. Let me pause for a moment and share a little something with you. Jose has spent the last 22 months building up a pretty solid hatred for doctors. As soon as one walks in the room he begins crying and screaming. When the doctor brought two nurses to the party Jose went full on ape sh*t. Flailing his arms. Clawing. Hissing. Crying. Screaming. Begging. Yeah, good times.
To make matters worse, the nurses wrapped Jose in a bed sheet like a human burrito to keep him from kicking and moving. One of the nurses held his torso while the other held his arm. My wife massaged Jose’s head as I stood back from the sidelines.
Because my son wasn’t screaming and crying enough, the doctor took a syringe and poked Jose’s fingers to see if she could get a reaction. When she did, she stuck the needle further into the wound and numbed the area. That was a joyous, happy time for all. As Dr. Needle-and-Thread worked, the adults in the room talked to Jose in multiple failed attempts to put him at ease. Five stitches in and things looked hopeful. Just one more to go.
DOCTOR: Oops. That one pulled through the skin. I’m gonna have to do that again.
Yeah, thanks for bringing your “A” game doc. This little mishap sent Jose through the roof. Not only because he had to endure another stitching, but because the area was not numbed. Not because it didn’t need to be, but because the doctor didn’t feel the need to numb the area because it was the last stitch. This was also her rationale for the last last one she botched.
The whole thing lasted about 10 minutes. And when the doctor finished, and after nurse bandaged his hand, Jose returned to normal; like nothing ever happened. Kind of like when a tornado rips through a town and the birds come out all chipper and happy. Yeah, it was just like that.
And that’s the story of @bebeJosito’s first big boo-boo.
Jose sleeps through the weekend
Got thoughts on @bebeJosito’s first big boo-boo? Share ‘em below or send me an e-mail at me@y2kemo.com.
