Apparently (and hopefully not really) the ol' ER is a yearly rite of passage. Remember the allergy attack? This time no sesame seeds were involved.
Let me set up the scene for ya:
Anna and I traveled sans Daddy to Nashville for my niece's high school graduation. Friday was the big day, and I was helping my sis with party prep at the dining table. Anna and her cousin were playing hide and seek. She was running towards me at the table, trying to escape Kullen. She turned back to look at him and ran right into the rounded corner of the table. (THANK JESUS it was a rounded corner.)
Immediately she cried.
Immediately I saw the gash, busted completely open about 1 inch.
After a photo sent to Daddy, a consultation with a plastic surgeon friend, Anna and I headed to Vanderbilt Children's, along with Aunt Lori, who I can never thank enough for being with us during everything that ensued.
Long story short: Anna needed stitches. With a doctor, one nurse holding her head, one nurse holding her feet, me holding her arms and laying across her body, and two ladies who try to distract kiddos with a bag of tricks (bubbles, Mickey Mouse, balls, etc), we were "ready."
**Because of potential respiratory complications with sedation, the doctor chose to only use topical numbing cream. This is a key turning point in the story.**
Just imagine you getting stitches with only topical numbing. Now imagine you are 2-years-old. Exactly.
She screamed so hard and loud and sad. And my heart broke into thousands of pieces as I mustered my most soothing voice, singing "Buzz Buzz Bee," kissing her hands, humming, telling her I love her, and on and on. With each stitch, she screamed. It was all intense and chaotic. I could hear the nurses talking to the doctor. The child specialists was trying everything to distract Anna. I could see the doctor stitching, focused and calm, which is a miracle and impressive. In the middle of the third stitch, Anna screamed for Daddy twice.
I felt completely helpless and cruel like I could do nothing for my dearest. Then I started getting sweaty and clammy.
If you know me well, you know I often faint when I get my blood drawn. The story only goes downhill from here.
Somewhere around stitch four, I could no longer hold Anna's hands sufficiently. I knew if I didn't sit down, I was going down. I kept trying to comfort her from my chair and also keep myself from completely wiping out. The whole scene, while at the time was horrific, is now mildly comical. Perhaps, in a few years, I will find it fully funny, but we're not that recovered. :-)
With the last stitch, they got Anna off the bed and put me on it. I felt like the WORST mother in the world. Sigh.
It was only seconds until I was fine. Anna was laying beside me calming down. It was over. Whew.
Anna is really, really tough. Although, I wasn't a fan of the pain she endured, she did great. She didn't flail around. She was brave. And was pleasant just a few minutes after it was over. Oh, I love her.
Did I mention we missed Kristen's graduation? We did. As it started, we were recovering with a popsicle. And by "we" I mean me. Ha.
Waiting in our ER room with topical numbing goop taped on her boo-boo.
1 comment:
Oh Emily. I am so sorry! What a horrible ordeal. Hopefully she won't remember too much of it. :(
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