Baby boy sliced the skin off his hand over the weekend. After a valiant effort, we were unable to get the bleeding to stop and were forced to make a trip to the children's hospital emergency room.
While filling out the required paperwork, the nurse asked how the injury happened.
"With a putty knife but not on my watch!" I shouted.
The nurse stared at me.
"Well. I just don't want you to think I let my kid play with putty knives regularly. I'm not a bad mom. I love my baby. Heck, I won't let him play with anything that has hard edges..." I babbled.
"We understand that accidents happen" she said, clearly judging me for being a nut job.
She motioned me to the next window, where the receptionist handed me a double sided 8 point font form to sign. Now, if you know me, you know I refuse to sign anything I haven't read fully - drives hubby nuts. I'm reading this paper, not holding up the line by the way, and the receptionist states, "You can just sign it and I'll bring you a copy when he sees the doctor."
I stare at her, "Doesn't that defeat the purpose? If I sign it, I'm committed to it. For all I know, I could be agreeing to sell my kid's body parts... WHILE HE'S STILL USING THEM."
She said, "It doesn't say that."
I'll have you know, I did not bang my head against the counter - as much as I wanted to.
We finally get into the ER waiting area where we are surrounded by screaming kids. On our left, a 2 year old suffering from a horrible allergic reaction that was disfiguring her face. On our right, a crush fracture leg and an arm needing sutures. In front of us, a kid recovering from a Grand Mal seizure.
By the time the doctor got to us 2.5 hours later, she asked what was wrong. After all that time listening to the horrible calamities befalling those children, I felt like saying, "My kid has a boo boo" especially since he had fallen asleep.
I felt vindicated when she pulled off the gauze and he was still bleeding... a lot. I'm such a bad mother.
Because the skin was sliced off, she couldn't do stitches and put on a blood clotting material. What she failed to mention? The stuff BURNS.
How bad and for how long?
48 of the longest hours of my life.
Hubby and I rocked our screaming baby for hours and hours, his shaking from the pain bringing tears to my eyes. I was holding him with one hand, Googling 'how to make a bubble boy costume' with the other.
Baby boy is doing much better today but he'll be stuck with his 'oven mitt' of a hand for our trip to Seattle.