My grandma use to tell me that I should become a doctor. Even at 15 years old I knew that the medical field was not for me. I just don’t have nerves of steel. Or a stomach for that matter. Which is fine. I’m okay with the fact that my calling is not in medicine. And it hasn’t been a problem… until now.
Well, I guess I can’t say it hasn’t ever been a problem. There was this one time I was working at a physical therapy office (not as a therapist, but as a language interpreter) and almost passed out when someone started to do some painful exercises. And then there was this one time when I had a few annoying moles removed, and had to ask the doctor to stop while the world seemed to be closing in on me and the doctors drifting away. (Yes, I was numb, no I couldn’t see anything -they were on my back- I just knew that it was happening.) Oh, and another time when I saw a doctor for an issue with my foot, sat up to talk with the doctor about a small lump on my leg and had to finish the conversation on my back because I was going to lose consciousness. And let’s not forget the time I went to the ophthalmologist with a friend, simply as a support, when she needed some attention for a stye. I ended up in a chair with my head between my knees. Not a great support. Blood draw, flu shots, IV’s, they all make me a bit woozy.
So, has being disinclined to the medical field been a problem? I guess… maybe… a little.
I should’ve known when my legs started tingling in the car, when I had to shake off the fogginess while driving. I should’ve known. But what am I supposed to do? I’m the mom. So, instead, this happened:
Let me start from the beginning. I was sitting with Mister on the couch, reading some scripture stories, while Tudders played around us. (This was pre-little Ladybug time.) He was walking from the coffee table to the couch and back again. I had moved the table close to the couch to make it “safe”. Good call right? See, I was thinking. Kinda. Tudders started using decorative pillows from the couch in his game and figured out how to use a pillow to span the small space between the couch and the coffee table. He then proceeded to step on it. And fall. And hit his chin on the table. And split it open.
Crying. Tears. Blood. On him. On me. Oh joy.
Mr Average and I have known Tudders would be the one to induct us into the hall of injury. He has an independent little spirit with very little fear, caution, or hesitation. I was worried that when the day finally came I wouldn’t be able to tell if he needed stitches. Oh, I knew. Here’s a hint, when it doesn’t look like a bandaid is gonna keep it together to heal, you need stitches.
I did really well in the beginning. I stayed upright, lucid, made necessary phone calls, loaded Mister and Tudders in the van, and was able to get out of the house without any lightheadedness. Mr Average was an hour away, so I called to let him know what was happening, but told him not to worry. By the time he raced home, we would have been done. So no rush. I called a few family members for some reassurance and to ask for an extra hand but wasn’t able to get a hold of anyone. I ended up conferring with a neighbor who seconded my suspicions of the need for stitches and then they so kindly offered to keep Mister while we went to the doctors. And I’m so glad I took them up on it! Surprisingly, I was still doing ok. Adrenaline. It’s amazing stuff.
On the drive I called Mr Average again and gave him an update. As I rehearsed the accident and the process of getting on the road to the doctors I started to feel the telltale feelings of passing out. Tingling behind the knees and down my legs, fogginess of thought, spinning head, but I was driving! I couldn’t put my head between my knees, I couldn’t lie down until it passed. I told Mr Average that he had received as much of an update as he was going to get and I needed him to pray for me. Like hardcore PRAY! I knew this is only the beginning.
We got to the after-hours office (oh did I mention this is at 5:45 on a Friday night?) and were taken right back to a room. Then the wait began. We both did okay for about an hour by implementing the magic of a surgical glove balloon, and coloring pictures on the paper pulled over the table. But it only lasted so long. Eventually Tudders did not want to be confined to the examination room any longer. We ventured out to the hall and moseyed around the office, taking in the scenery of doors and desks and rooms. I had plenty of time to think about what was coming and could tell I was going to struggle. I asked the sweet nurse who attended to us if there was some juice we could have. Tudders was thrilled that he and I got to share a juice box. Really, the highlight of the day.
The doctor finally came in, after another 30 minutes, and confirmed that we needed stitches. She asked if this was baby’s initiation to the cuts and stitches club. “Both his and mom’s,” I told her. Little did I know what initiation entailed!
The site had to be prepared by cleaning, sterilizing, and numbing and although Tudders screamed… and screamed… it was short-lived and over quickly. The office did not have a papoose board, so instead we used a flat sheet to swaddle his arms and legs. Tudders does not like to be swaddled. What 19 month old does? He doesn’t even like blankets covering him so swaddling was torture. With stitches they have to use a sterile cloth to cover the site and because the cut was on his chin, the cloth covered his face. Swaddled and face covered? End of the world. It was just the doctor and me in the room so I was trying to restrict his body and stabilize his head while the doctor attempted to stitch the gash. It was not going to work! The doctor finagled the door open with her elbows (because she had on sterile gloves and couldn’t touch anything) and called a nurse in. The nurse took over the body restricting and I focused on my sweet baby’s head.
I was now in a position where I couldn’t see the actual stitching. Thank goodness. But I had a very clear view of my little boy’s sweaty head, his large scared eyes, and the tears running his face. My heart broke. I couldn’t take this pain away from him. I held his jaw and cheekbones to keep his head still (which was surprisingly and extremely hard) and blew on his head to cool him off. I kept talking to him and telling him he was doing a good job, everything was ok, and we were almost done. He would respond between his cries with a “thank you” or an “all done”. My heart melted. The nurse tried to ask about his brother and favorite super heros (which didn’t really help – he doesn’t know super heros), but Tudders’ eyes were locked on mine and pleading with me to be done. Between his sobs he was literally saying “thank you” for the breeze and words of comfort.
As the doctor started the final stitch I felt the wave of tingles go through my body. I knew I wasn’t going to last much longer. The doctor finished up, I reassured Tudders that we were done, the doctor tried to make small talk about her son who had stitches and share his story and I felt myself slipping. I put my head on the table but it wasn’t going to cut it. I had to interrupt the doctor and her story and tell her I needed to lie down. She asked if the laying down was needed because I was worried about my little guy or if I wasn’t doing well. “Honestly, a little of both,” I said as I slid off the chair I had been in and onto the floor.
Ha! This is on the day the stitches came out, and Mr Average was there, and taking pictures.
The poor nurse still had Tudders and looked at me with a bit of confusion and worry. The doctor whipped out a pillow for me to use and happily let me lay on the lovely, sublimely cold floor. I never imagined I’d be so grateful for the cold tile floor on which I would eagerly and willingly lay. I asked the nurse to just pass my little guy down when she was done and we would hang out on the floor for a bit. Tudders came right down and snuggled right into me, on the pillow, on the floor. It didn’t phase him one bit. The doctor ordered me to drink two more juice boxes (woohoo!) before we stood up. So we just took our time, chillin’ on the floor of the doctor’s office.
Eventually the fog started to clear and I felt that nagging that I needed to get moving. We needed to pick up Mister and get in touch with Mr Average (my phone died when we first got there so he hadn’t received any updates). Although things were still a little hazy I pulled myself up off the wonderful floor, cuddled my brave baby in my arms and headed home.
Obviously, I’m not the kind of mom who wants to record stitches being put in. I don’t have the fortitude to make it through the more “involved” doctor’s appointments. I’m no wonder woman. I’m just an average mom that loves her babies. There will be times in our lives when we end up in a figurative (or literal) examination room, where our constitution is tested. However you respond, with a camera out or holding hands with your son or daughter from the floor, it’s ok. Whatever the circumstance, find a way to embrace it, make the most of it, laugh at it, cry at it, live in it. Typically there is nothing extraordinary in our average, everyday life but our response to life can be remarkable! Whatever “doctor’s office” you find yourself in, there’s no shame in needing “to lie on the sublimely cold floor” for a while.
images by averagejosie.com