I've never really been superstitious. Don't see the point really. But I have wavered in my judgment of Friday the 13th. Because the one that happened in August was a terrible, nightmare of a day. So. I'm in the kitchen; Clark's in the living room. I hear a crash, and Clark starts screaming. There's hardly any blood, but I can tell right away that he is gonna need stitches in his eyebrow. And all I can think of is how thankful I am for eyebrows, for protecting my baby's eye. I call Jose, who thankfully, miraculously, is working at a house a couple of blocks away.
We take Clark to Urgent Care, where he happily tells the nurse that he was spinning in the living room and fell and hit his eyebrow on the coffee table, correcting me because I told her he must have fallen off the couch. But the nightmare begins when he is mummified in a white sheet, strapped to a board, draped in sterile paper, and given 4 stitches while we hold him down. It was horrifying. He screamed and kicked and cried and spit and practically hyperventilated. It took everything I had in me to keep from choking up and losing it. I just tried to keep my voice even as I talked to him with tears streaming down my face, telling him that the doctor was just trying to fix his eye and that it would be over soon and that he was a big boy and that he was going to be okay. As long as I live, I hope never to repeat what happened this day.
I have to say, though, that Clark was amazing about keeping his bandaid on. I couldn't believe it. He would sit patiently and let me put it on, and then leave it alone all day and all night, for 10 days. What a little trooper.
I've never really been superstitious. Don't see the point really. But I have wavered in my judgment of Friday the 13th. Because the one that happened in August was a terrible, nightmare of a day. So. I'm in the kitchen; Clark's in the living room. I hear a crash, and Clark starts screaming. There's hardly any blood, but I can tell right away that he is gonna need stitches in his eyebrow. And all I can think of is how thankful I am for eyebrows, for protecting my baby's eye. I call Jose, who thankfully, miraculously, is working at a house a couple of blocks away.
We take Clark to Urgent Care, where he happily tells the nurse that he was spinning in the living room and fell and hit his eyebrow on the coffee table, correcting me because I told her he must have fallen off the couch. But the nightmare begins when he is mummified in a white sheet, strapped to a board, draped in sterile paper, and given 4 stitches while we hold him down. It was horrifying. He screamed and kicked and cried and spit and practically hyperventilated. It took everything I had in me to keep from choking up and losing it. I just tried to keep my voice even as I talked to him with tears streaming down my face, telling him that the doctor was just trying to fix his eye and that it would be over soon and that he was a big boy and that he was going to be okay. As long as I live, I hope never to repeat what happened this day.
I have to say, though, that Clark was amazing about keeping his bandaid on. I couldn't believe it. He would sit patiently and let me put it on, and then leave it alone all day and all night, for 10 days. What a little trooper.
Comments