8 stitches

>> Sunday, August 30, 2009


Because I promised to Blog about this, I had to wait a few days to bring the proper perspective. And it's not what you think. I did not need to calm down, I did not need to center myself and open myself up to peace. I needed to be able to not sound so understanding, I needed to actually NOT be able to to see the other side. But it didn't work, I am that person that sees the other side once in a while, when it is important. Boy, was this important.

On Thursday, Bug got on the bus, happily, and went off to school. Glenn was not feeling well, and wanted to sleep it off, but I heard the trash man and made a mad dash to take the trash out, leaving him to attend to Tay and my family that was visiting. While I was outside, the phone rang and I did not hear it. Then my cell phone rang, and I did not hear it because I was talking to the nice neighbor man about backyards. When Glenn's phone rang he missed answering it and immediately checked the voicemail. It's as he was hanging up from listening to the message that I walked in. He said:

That was Dan Petersen, Bug was attacked on the playground and needs stitches.

What?

A million things ran through my mind, but the first was to go get my baby. I didn't care what I looked like, I got my shoes on, called the school from my phone, got no one that knew but told her to tell 'them' I would be there ASAP and when I went to get Glenn, he was on the phone. He was hearing how a little boy jumped on Bug, pushed him to the ground and BIT HIM ON THE LIP. It was bad enough that they were sure he needed a COUPLE of stitches. OMG! My mind raced and Glenn and I left. I pictured my little boy on the ground screaming, all the while, another little boy was sitting on him biting him. It was my worst fear for him. MY VERY WORST. He is a sweet boy and I have watched him, time and again, get pushed away and he just turns and plays somewhere else. He will not defend himself and is not capable of retribution.

I drove. Glenn rode. Only because I got to the car first, and knew where we were going. As I drove I listened to Glenn say things like: Where were they? How did this happen? They weren't watching. I want to know that this boy will be nowhere that Bug is. I want to know that this is not going happen again, I want this boy at home and I want a different staff to take care of him.

I said: Imagine that the phone call you just received said that Bug had just attacked a little boy and that the little boy needed stitches. Imagine YOU are on the other side of that fence. I would be more upset at that than this.

Glenn diverted with other things and we eventually drove the last part in silence.

When we got there, everyone I had met earlier was with our boy. He was sitting on Drew's lap (Drew is his Physical Therapist) and was smiling. His lip was ripped open on his left side, right on the lip line, and was sticking straight out. And yet, he was smiling. This is Bug. He had scratches on his forehead and under his nose. He looked like he had been attacked by a cat.

Jill, his teacher was there, Mrs. Wong, his principal, was there and someone was saying that this little boy has a history of violence. Oh dear heaven. He has done this type of thing before? I watched Bug kiss the towel with the ice pack in it while Glenn tried to ascertain if it went all the way through. Bug didn't have blood on his teeth so we were pretty sure that it was only on the outside. How did that occur is a mystery since it was so bad, but thank heaven for small things. Really, we didn't care, at that time, the details of what happened and the history surrounding it, we wanted to get Bug to the ER. The ER across the street. So Drew carried him out to the car and we drove to the ER in less than 3 minutes.

We got there, signed him in and the Doctor saw him almost immediately. MUCH better than our last ER trip. The Doctor asked if he would sit still long enough to stitch him. We laughed. Not just no. So they gave him Propofol. Yep, the drug that is being widely reported in the media as being to connected to the death of Michael Jackson. Glenn and I both said: Ah, the Michael Jackson drug. The Doctor thought we might be nervous so he started to explain it's properties. I asked him what the mechanism was and he looked at me and said: They think it's a complete central nervous relaxer, or some thing like that. He did say it is an anti-convulsant too. Cool. No seizures were likely. Whew.

They had a hard time finding a vein and he ended up with an IV in his foot. Ouch. he was such a good boy. Hardly cried at all, just expressed his concern a few times and, of course, I was smacked.

In no time at all they began the Propofol and he drifted off. The Doctor said: Let's get started! He injected a local and when the needle hit the lip, Bug woke up pissed. Doctor said: That's the problem, it wears off quickly. I actually said: AH! That explains the constant IV drip MJ was on. He stopped and looked up at me and said: Exactly! Without it, it would wear off too quickly. I guess I was a little too calm and interested. They gave him more Propofol and we saw his O2 levels going down a bit and I heard: He's going down, he's crashing a little. That's when I got nervous and had to walk away from the gurney. I was still in the room but a little further away. His levels came back up quickly and the Doctor started to stitch...and Bug woke up pissed. Every time that needle went in, Bug would wake up and cry a little. More Propofol and more local. Turns out that Bug needed an adult dose.

The Doctor did an excellent job with the stitches. The edges were clean, not jagged at all and it closed beautifully. I commented as much. The Doctor thanked me and said: we got lucky. Boy did we.

Bug was up and out and about less than 15 minutes after the stitches were finalized. He was a little trooper and everyone said so. EVERYONE there fell in love with him. It was typical Bug.

He is doing well, and the injury seems to not have effected him at all. Although he DID point at his lip last night as he was cuddling with me. I told him: Did you get and owie? He looked at me and then leaned into me. All that trauma, and he still is a sweetheart.

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