the sometimes senseless ravings (and the occassional rant) of an aspiring marine ecologist who may enjoy killing things a little too much

Monday, June 15, 2009

Panic! At the Homestead

Whew. Is anyone else out there actually *glad* it's Monday? No? Just me? Oh well. It was a terrible weekend here in LaTinaLand, and I'm sort of looking forward to a mundane week. See, to start things off, Max had to go and bust his head open Saturday morning, so that pretty much ruined the whole weekend right there. I made yummy lemon muffins and scrambled eggs for breakfast on Saturday, so that was good. But Max ate one bite of eggs and refused to try the muffin, which is to be expected with Max. His breakfast of champions? A bowl of Cheerios and some fruit.

Anyway, after breakfast I took a shower and had just finished drying my hair when I heard Max start crying, and Chad yelled from the living room, "Where's the first aid kit?" So I dropped my hair brush and ran into the hall (Max wasn't crying anymore), where Chad was holding Max, who was bleeding all over Chad's shirt. From a gaping wound on his forehead. So we went into the hall bathroom and got a damp rag to wipe the blood away so I could see what we were dealing with. Then I whipped out the giant variety box of Band-Aids and the antibiotic cream, along with gauze and medical tape. When I tried to clean the wound a little, Max wiggled and screamed, and we had to lay him down on the couch so I could get a giant-sized Band-Aid on him. Meanwhile, Chad explained that Max had been playing in the kitchen, tripped over the wheel of the high chair and fell face first right into the corner of the cabinet. Ahhh!

It was decided that the cut would need stitches, so I called Max's pediatrician's office (they have a little emergency room there, and we thought that would be faster and better for Max than taking him to the big emergency room at the hospital). The branch of the medical group where Max's pediatrician is based was CLOSED. The one time we *really* need them on a Saturday. Ahhh!!! But they have another office about 10 minutes away, so I called there and found out exactly where it was (behind IHOP on Airport, FYI), and we were off. Actually, I called while we were in already in the car. Because once we decided this was an EMERGENCY, I grabbed Max's (conveniently pre-packed) diaper bag, threw in a juice box, a paci, and his shoes, snatched up my purse, and we ran out the door. Chad drove. I was a little shaky.

Max totally kept his cool while Chad and I were busy panicking. As long as we weren't trying to fix his head wound, he was fine. There was a giant Band-Aid over it, and it was still bleeding (duh, it was a big gaping gash that wouldn't stay closed on its own). Max didn't even have his paci, and he was cool. I strapped him in the car seat, and he was fine. A real trooper. He just kept looking up to try to see the enormous Band-Aid on his head.

Anyway, so we were ushered right into the ER when we got to the doctor's office, and Max just sat on Chad's lap and looked around. No tears. His forehead was busted open, and he was bleeding, but he was fine with it. Then the doctor came in with a nurse, who took the Band-Aid off Max's forehead. Then we laid him down on the exam table, and all hell broke loose. Max was screaming and flailing, despite the paci I retrieved from the diaper bag (not that I blame him, poor baby). Chad held Max's legs, I held his arms, and the nurse held his head while the doctor cleaned and examined the wound. He decided that stitches wouldn't be necessary. The cut was a perfectly vertical line (when the nurse held the edges of the wound together; it was a big gaping marquis shape otherwise) almost an inch long right above Max's left eye, so they decided they could glue it closed instead of stitching it. So we held Max down for a couple more minutes while the doctor produced a vial of purple Derma-bond and glued the wound shut.

Then the doctor peeled off a little wound care instruction sheet and told us how to care for Max's injury: don't do ANYTHING. Don't wet it (though a little blot in the bath would be fine), don't put any ointment on it, don't clean it, don't put a bandange on it. Just leave it alone and let the glue start coming off on its own (which would start to happen in a week or so). But we'd have to be careful not to let Max rub his head vigorously against anything or pick at the glue. Which as it turns out, is easier said than done with a toddler who has completely forgotten that he busted his forehead open two days ago.

Chad and I were really jumpy all weekend, freaking out every time Max stumbled. Which happens a lot, especially considering Max's propensity to spin around in circles until he can't walk straight. We jumped every time Max fell down and were constantly telling him to be careful. Yesterday Max started wanting to rub his face on the furniture and do this head-butting thing that he does, and he's making us crazy. Because he does not respect his head wound. He doesn't really try to touch it with his hands, though. I'm guessing it still hurts like hell.

Dressing and undressing the Max is also a little more difficult than usual. Because I try to get his shirt on and off without rubbing it against his forehead. Easier said than done. Yesterday morning Max got impatient with me and whipped his pajama shirt over his head while I was positioning the neck hole so it wouldn't touch the cut. I freaked a bit, but he was fine.

Anyway, so this morning I had to explain the head wound to the director of Max's daycare center (we saw her on the way in) and then to his teachers. They told me that another little boy in Max's class had to get stitches under his chin over the weekend when he fell off the bed. So it was a bad weekend for the toddlers at Max's daycare.

So now I'm ready for a week without drama. You hear that, Powers That Be? NO DRAMA.

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