My phone vibrated, but I was talking to a class participant so I didn't answer. When I saw it was T, I knew something must be up, because he never calls at that time. Q had been barfing off and on all week, so I figured he was having another bout. But no. It was the little one.
First to rewind a bit, my day started at 4:45 a.m. when I dragged my carcass out of bed to quickly plan my 5:30 a.m. class (we had a business dinner of T's last night, so I didn't have time for prep). Class ran till 6:15. I tried not to sweat during class, then quickly changed into my "costume" for a work skit, and sped across town for the 7:00 a.m. call time. We had conference sessions for work Thursday and Friday and we kicked it off with a campy skit. I played a lifeguard trainee and performed my line to the best of my ability. There was also some awkward dancing, but we had fun. I then changed into business casual clothes, feeling sweaty and smelly, but a little perfume disguised that.
On to a full day of sessions and panels, for three of which I was room monitor. At 5:15 p.m, I headed out for my evening fitness class, utterly exahusted but with an end to the day in sight. I had to put my sweaty workout clothes back on (I assure you I usually have much better personal hygiene). Finally, the grueling day was done, and I checked my voicemail as I walked out to my car.
Bad news. Poor little R had fallen in the tub, slammed into the side, and split his chin. T said there was a lot of blood, and they were on the way to urgent care. I felt like I was going to throw up.
The receptionist led me to the room when I got there. Poor little R was sitting on his dad's lap, his white onesie stained with blood and much more gushing out of the one-inch gash on his chin.
Ugh.
An hour-long ordeal followed. First the struggle just to get numbing gel to stay on for ten minutes. Then he was strapped into this horrible baby strait jacket that they called a baby papoose (I guess that sounds a little less frightening, but less accurate). His cut was washed a few times then slooooowly stitched.
One nurse held his head firmly in place while T made sure he didn't wiggle his arms out. His face was covered most of the time by a sterile drape. He screamed bloody murder the whole time and repeatedly pleaded "All done!" It was not fun. I sat by Q most of the time who was entirely unfazed.
Finally, R was stitched and bandaged and sucking happily on a lollipop. I held him and squeezed him, relieved he was out of that baby bondage.
At home he was happy as a clam again enjoying ice cream and bouncing around. He ripped off his bandage almost immediately though. Now he is on antibiotics for five days, and he goes back to get his stitches out in about a week.
I decided to stay home today to make sure both boys were OK. They are doing fine, though R will have a nasty little scar.
Here are the gory details:
Post-procedure, bloodied but unbowed.
His Frankenstein scar (six stitches) and fuzz stuck in his sucker residue. It's going to be a challenge keeping that wound clean!
I welcome the weekend.
--MM
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