Friday, March 8, 2013

unconventional baby book entry

Baby's first stitches?  Well, we ALMOST made it to 18 months before our wild child ended up in the emergency room to get something stitched.  Almost.  I'm actually kind of surprised it didn't happen sooner, with the way this monster monkey climbs, and is so stubborn independent.  But here's how it happened...

Last night was just like any other night, Patrick was still at work, Gunnar and I were playing around before he ate dinner.  At the time of the incident we were playing with one of Gunnar's favorite things - a bucket.  This one was a soft, nylon one shaped by springs.  He was busy putting it on his head and taking it off, giggling while I asked "Where'd Gunny go?!"

He started throwing it back and forth with me, when it landed on the couch.  He decided he wanted to get it, so I let him.  He climbs on and off the couch about a thousand times a day so it's no big deal.  Still, I was so close to him we were touching.  Halfway up it was like he decided to stop climbing, and slid down off the cushion.  Something went wrong, and instead of landing on his feet, he slipped landed on his butt, and his ear caught the corner of our coffee table JUST SO that it split wide open.  He started crying, I picked him up thinking he just bumped his head, yet again.  Then I saw the blood, and when I took a closer look I saw a flap of cartilage.  Gross.

I had a minor freak out and almost called 9-1-1.  I'm glad I decided not to, because after I threw clothes on him (he was naked) he was totally fine.  Totally acted like he wasn't bleeding every where.  I mean, it was on our couch, his jammies, the car seat, his face, me.  On the car ride over, I was panicked and shaky, and of course hit every red light (and got stuck waiting on our one lane bridge).  I called Patrick, who answered his phone apologetically that he hadn't left the office yet.  I said no worries, meet me at the hospital.  And he did.  After a horrible experience at the civilian hospital, I knew we wouldn't be going there again, and we headed for base.

Patrick arrived just as I was signing us in, and I can't tell you how glad I was that he was there!  He's much calmer than I am, and Guns loves his Dada so it automatically made him forget about everything else.  Plus it was another set of hands to grab him when he tried to run off, and someone else to help keep him busy when he got bored.

There were a lot of people so I expected to wait a while.  Gunnar entertained himself by literally running up and down the halls, looking like a lunatic... with a face covered in blood, laughing his little tush off.  All in all, it wasn't terrible.  It would have been a bad experience no matter where we went just because of the circumstance.  We were there for about three and a half hours, including wait time, triage, doctor's exam, stitching, and picking up prescriptions.

I won't talk much about the stitching because it was quite a traumatic experience.  But we all survived, and Guns has 9 stitches to show for it.  Now I'm left with the task of keeping a bandage on it 24/7 for the next 5 to 10 days, changing it daily.  Are you kidding me?!  Luckily, we've done one change and it wasn't too awful.  Once we got the tape off he let me do what I needed to do.  And he leaves it alone for the most part.  He will only poke at it if he accidentally touches it.  Kind of like "Hey, what's this on my ear?" I tell him no, and he stops.  Hopefully he will keep up the good work and it will heal up just fine.

But UGH what an experience.  I have an unfortunate feeling it is the first of many...

Watching Sponge Bob in the waiting room...
The damage:
Glad Dad was around for this ER trip.
Post stitches... we were both worn out.
Re-hydrating from all the tears.
Back in one piece:
And... he's out.

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