My son over the last week has started climbing. Now when I say climbing, I mean climbs to the top of chairs, tables, laundry baskets, television, everything and anything he can get his little paws on.
Today has got to be one of the few awful one's I've had over the last couple weeks. I digress.
My son climbed onto the table (AGAIN) and as I was turning around all I heard was a large and distressing thud. I looked at him, on the ground (all the way from the table) mortified. He wasn't making a peep. He had his mouth open to scream, but hadn't quite gotten the air behind it yet. As I rushed over to him I found blood just pouring out of his mouth. I was completely panicked. I slowly moved him onto his back, making sure nothing was broken, I picked him up. At this point he had officially started screaming. It was awful. Hearing your child in pain is an experience that I can't even begin to relay. I rushed him over to the sink and started to try to figure out two things. One, where is the bleeding coming from. Two, how do I stop the bleeding. I started using towels to soak up the blood so that I could at least attempt to see where it was coming from. It didn't help that there was so much! It was just gushing blood. I am so sorry for the graphic description, but this is cathartic for me. So I'm going to continue. So I can't see where it's coming from, all I can see is that there is a lot and it's not slowing down. I decided to take him over to the couch and rock him in the hopes of calming him a bit. As soon as the adrenaline left his system, and the blood wasn't pouring as much he calmed down. Only as long as I rocked him though. So I kept rocking, still feeling panic. I had blood all over me. And not just any blood, it was my sons. This was completely consuming me.
My husband came in the door not a minute after I had finally calmed him down. He had fallen asleep. Probably because it was around his nap time and the adrenaline just left him exhausted. My husband and I looked inside his mouth and found what looked like a gaping hole above his frenulum which was split completely. As soon as I realized that it looked as bad as I thought it couldn't be, I completely freaked. We leaped into the truck with my poor baby and I covered in blood. He was still asleep in my arms as we drove frantically to the hospital. When we walked into the ER we were fortunate to have it be somewhat empty. Maybe a handful of people. Two with broken bones, and one with mysterious pain. They got to us right away. And rightfully so, as I said my son and I were just covered in blood. I had a mixture of emotion, fear, and anger. Fear that it was really as bad as I thought it couldn't be. And anger ready to take out anyone who got in the way of getting my son help.
We were blessed to have absolutely wonderful help. They were all attentive and fast working. At this point my son had woken up. He was no longer crying, just slowly bleeding. After the doctor took a look at it he told us that he was going to need stitches for the hole that was just above his ripped frenulum. My husband and I looked at each other in absolute devastation. We knew it was going to be painful, and we weren't sure how we were going to deal with the screams. Any cry from my son pains me, but a cry of pure fear and pain, that could put me in my grave.
The doctors took fifteen to twenty minutes to prep. Getting everything they need including anesthesia and needles. It was all very surreal. Our doctor came in and started explaining the procedure. They were going to wrap him up very tightly like a burrito, they were then going to have to numb the area using two hypodermic needles. Once that was done they were going to have to hold his head still and lip up and open to sew the hole. I looked up at my husband close to tears, wondering if I was going to be able to be there for my son when he got this done. He looked at me and told me I needed to hold it together for my son so that he could hear my voice and be comforted. The time came. They wrapped him up, having me hold his body down so that he didn't role, and my husband hold his head so that he couldn't wrestle away. It was the worst thing I've ever had to do. I would much rather give birth than have to do that ever again. My son was fine until the doctor lifted up his lip. He began to scream as they tried to numb the area. He was bright red, and barely breathing he was crying so hard. I kept worrying that he was going to choke on the blood that was still coming out of his wound. But they kept going. He was just hysterical. It took every bit of strength I had and then some to not rip him away from the situation and just run like hell out of there. My husband and I were both sweating, I had tears in my eyes, and we were both trying to give him soothing words of encouragement for the long process. Three stitches and what felt like a lifetime afterwards, I was finally able to lift him up onto my shoulder. He was devastated as was I. My husband looked to me and told me that the worst part of the whole procedure was when my son looked up at him with tears in his eyes looking betrayed that we would be the ones to hold him down during this painful and traumatic procedure.
I just held him for the longest time. My husband was singing to him. As we swayed, my son with his sobbing just trying to catch his breath, my husband and I looked at each other. We knew right then and there, there was nothing we wouldn't do for our son. And at any cost, we would guide him away from any danger for the rest of our lives. Never again, would we put ourselves or him through that awful day. Little do we know, we're only 15 months into parenthood. I hear it only gets worse. But as God knows, this is all my heart can handle for a long time.
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