All he wanted to do was make the cats a kitty palace.
He asked me for cardboard boxes and a utility knife. For a moment, I almost told him "no" to the knife, but I'm trying to be better about giving them opportunities to gain independence and hands on experiences. I have trusted him with cutting up food in the past, so I thought this would be no different. We went over the "safety guidelines" and he went to work. About ten minutes later, I heard the scream.
I ran to him and saw it. All the blood. All over him. All over the knife. All over the carpet. So much blood. I started to panic, but remembered to stay calm, because he was definitely panicking. I quickly grabbed a paper towel and held it the source. After composing myself and calming him, I took the paper towel off to inspect the damage. What I found was about an inch long slice into his calf. Then I had to play that game that every parent dreads: Stitches Or No Stitches. It was too deep and too long. Definitely stitches. I commend him on making it a nice, clean cut, at least. Must be supportive and all.
I quickly call Matt as we load into the car and head to Immediate Care, trying to keep things light along the way. Thankfully, Drew is being helpful and sympathetic to his brother for a change, and he helps him in and out of the car. We hobble in, gaining the curious looks of the receptionists. It's then I realize that Rob is still covered in blood. Oops?
We sign in and wait, joking about the incidence. I'm pretty sure the ladies there think we're sick, twisted souls. They're not entirely wrong. As we're walking back to see a doctor, I excitedly (and sarcastically) look at Drew and say, "Hey, maybe they'll amputate his leg!" In the corner of my eye, I see one of the receptionist's head drop to the desk and the other one is giggling.
The nurse gets Rob comfortable on the bed/table thing and I can see that he visibly shaking. So, we start talking about making up some crazy story to go with his wound. He's all over this. "A pack of ninjas! No! Raccoons! Zombie raccoons!" The nurse gives me a funny look and quips, "You must have an interesting household." You have no idea, lady. Before leaving us in the room, she asks Rob, "Have you ever had stitches before?" His panic level goes right back up. Sigh.
In walks the doctor. He asks Rob all the same questions as the nurse (why do they do that?) as he's setting up his tools to clean and stitch the wound. I can't read him. He wasn't the friendliest, but he wasn't a total jerk. Even threw in some jokes once in awhile. Thankfully, he chalks up Rob's accident as just that and doesn't give me a guilt trip or call CPS (I feel bad enough). Then here comes the syringe with the numbing. Rob isn't having it. He starts to cry and wail. I hate seeing them in pain. I wrap myself around him, trying to comfort him without losing it myself. He's a tough kid, and after three "sticking sessions", he's finally numb. The doctor stitches up his leg, griping at the nurse the whole time about the surgical kit he was given. "It's missing X. Why does that keep happening? Why is it even on the shelf if it's missing X?!" Good grief. Can't this wait until we're gone? I'll BUY you a X if you promise to shut up about it! Finally, he gets over missing X and finishes. He gives me the low down (bandages for 4-5 days...stitches come out in 10...no water fun, etc.). I ask him, "Do you think I could remove his stitches? I'm 90% confident I could do it." I'm a farm kid, dude. I've seriously seen this done a million times. Dog, cow, human -- flesh is flesh. He pauses, smiles, and looks at me sideways. "I'm just recommending that you bring him back in. I can't control what you do or don't do." Oh, I'm so doing it myself, Dr. Chuckles.
The nurse is nice enough to clean up the rest of the blood we forgot. "I don't want to freak people out," she says. She has a point. We tell the receptionists goodbye on our way out (they were probably happy to be rid of us at that point) and we stop for ice cream on the way home. Because I kind of feel like crap for not preventing it. But we have survived our ordeal. Take THAT, Friday the 13th!
**HERE COMES THE GRAPHIC PART. SKIP IF YOU'RE A WUSS SENSITIVE TO MEDICAL TYPE IMAGES.**
Here's Rob's wound on Sunday, after a shower. No pain or signs of infection. Together, we're doing what we can to keep it clean and cared for on a daily basis. The kid has to settle for a farm kid for a mom instead of a nurse, but I think it's healing quite nicely.
I kind of feel like my days are numbered, with Matt's finger incidence (October 2016), Drew's broken arm (November 2016), and now Rob's stitches. Bubble wrap for everyone!!!
