Like son, like mom?

When Andrew was two years old and knew good and well that he was not allowed to climb up on the top bunk (he slept on the bottom bunk and Josiah was on the top in what is now Andrew’s room), he climbed up on the top bunk, enjoyed the view for a while, and then fell off, hitting his head on the edge of a metal desk, and gashing the bridge of his nose.

Head and facial wounds tend to bleed like crazy.  This I know because I have four children.  When Katie was something like a year old, she pulled a desk phone off an end table in the living room and it came crashing down onto her face.  The phone was heavy.  It may even have been a rotary dial model, and no, you don’t have to be THAT old to remember rotary dial phones!  Sheesh!  We used one for children’s church for years.

Anyway, she bled (as the saying goes) like a stuck pig and I panicked and called the pediatrician, whose nurse told me to wipe it up, apply pressure and all would be well; that head and facial wounds bleed like crazy, but that she would not surely die or need stitches.  No sutures, and I know she’s alive, because she just texted me about carrot cupcakes with cream cheese frosting!

So by the fourth kid, I wasn’t too bent out of shape about the bleeding on the bridge of Andrew’s nose.  I washed it up, applied pressure, put a Band-Aid on it, and sent the kid to bed.

The next morning it had bled through the Band-Aid and all over the sheets.  Quite the mess, and it was still bleeding.  The cut was short, but deep.  What to do?  It was a Sunday morning, around Easter I think, or maybe it even was Easter.  I put another Band-Aid on it, which he promptly pulled off.  I put a second one on it and he pulled that off, too.  I put a third Band-Aid on it, put several more in my purse, told him NOT to pull it off, and took him to church.

He pulled it off.

One of the ladies at church was a nurse and I asked her to look at it.  She said it probably should have been stitched, but she thought pulling it closed well with a butterfly bandage would work.

After church we picked up some butterflies and I applied one. . . which Andrew promptly pulled off.  Actually, it was pretty sticky and he had to work fairly hard for quite a while to get the thing off his head, but he was a persistent guy at two.  At that point, I pretty much gave up.  Nearly 24 hours after the injury, I thought it was too late to go have it stitched, and I figured that it would be better to leave it open than have him keep picking at it to get the bandage off.  I left it uncovered during the day and slapped a Band-Aid on it after he was asleep at night.

And that is why Andrew has a scar across his forehead at the top of his nose.  Should ‘a had it stitched in the first few hours!

So. . . Sunday morning I was racing around trying to get dressed and get to church.  Why d0 I always try to do too much too quickly, thus consistently eliminating the time margin that lets me relax and be peaceful and purposeful?!?  My pants were static-y, so I reached for the can of Static Guard on our closet shelf.  It was high and hard to reach, and I yanked hard on the can to get it down.  It came loose from whatever was holding it, and because I was pulling hard, it came down hard.  The bottom of the can hit the bridge of my nose, and it hit so hard that I subsequently had a dull headache for 24 hours.  It knocked my glasses off, and my head – and especially my nose – really hurt.

I was already just about dressed, so I finished that and looked in the mirror.  There was an indentation just like the one on Andrew’s forehead.  Hmmm. . .   At least it wasn’t bleeding, but it and my whole head just hurt like crazy.

You know how there are sometimes delayed responses to trauma?  Like when you watch a kid get hurt and for a split second he doesn’t cry, but then suddenly the signal got to the brain and back to the vocal cords, and the kid goes off like a siren?  Well, as I turned away from the mirror, some 30 seconds after the Static Guard can impacted my flesh, that indentation started bleeding, and being a facial wound, it bled like crazy.

Sheesh. I needed to leave for church in five minutes.  What to do?

Well, the general rule of thumb is to apply pressure till the bleeding stops, so I shoved my left middle finger hard against it and held it there while my head throbbed.  That slowed the bleeding, but I still needed to cover the beast.  I found a Band-Aid under the sink, but you know, it’s been a long time since we had little kids in the house that needed Band-Aids in a variety of sizes on a daily basis.  Nowadays, I only buy them in one size, and because I’m into durability, I like the flexible fabric.  In the realm of Band-Aids, they are, even in the generic form, a force to be reckoned with.

They are also huge.

This cut, although kind of deep, was less than half an inch long, and it was on my nose, for crying out loud.  Right in the middle of my face!  Now, I’m not terribly vain, but there was no way to get this Band-Aid on my nose in any way, shape, or form.  If I put it cross-ways (the way it really needed to go), its ends would be stuck to my eyeballs.  If I put it up-and-down, one end of it would inhibit nasal breathing.

I pulled out my mini-scissors. . . Wait.  You must bear in mind that to this point, I was doing everything one-handed, because I was still duly applying pressure with my left middle finger.  With one hand, I had dug in the basket for a Band-Aid, managed to open its devilish little paper enclosure, and peeled off the paper strips.  [NOTE:  Whenever you need a Band-Aid, you need it quickly and often you have only the use of one hand.  Why one earth do they make those little paper wrappers so impossibly difficult to get into?]

I next needed to reduce the size of the Band-Aid, and that would require two hands.  First, I took a wet Kleenex and swabbed blood off my nose and cheekbones, while, I might (proudly) add, skillfully failing to remove any of my makeup.  I’m good that way.  I then released my firm-pressing left middle finger, cut out a little section Band-Aid including both pad and stickiness, affixed it vertically to my nose, and wiped up the blood that had oozed out in those few seconds.  I then put on my glasses, hoping that the bridge of the glasses would minimize the visual impact of a thick, fabric Band-Aid on my nose.  It did not.

So I went to church looking somewhat like a clown, but to their credit, no one said a word about my facial anomaly. Not one single person asked what happened, and for that I was thankful.

That night, I had Scott replace the ugly partial Band-Aid with a small piece of steri-strip, pulling gently to get the sides of the wound together and thus hopefully avoiding a scar.  Granted, the steri-strip was still no fashion statement, but it was tolerable and at least marginally more aesthetically pleasing than the Band-Aid.  I left the steri-strip in place all week, and this morning, a full six days after the Static Guard can attacked me, Nurse Scott replaced it with a fresh one.

Moral of the story:  Never buy polyester pants!

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1 Response to “Like son, like mom?”


  1. 1 Katie February 24, 2013 at 1:14 am

    The moral is the BEST part of this story!


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