We Hate Needles

Originally Posted 22 Febuary 2013

 

One thing my son and I completely share and agree upon is our utter hate and fear of needles. We just avoid them at all costs. Being diabetic it is hard for me to avoid needles since I self inject twice a day and test 3 times a day. Those things for me are unavoidable at this time in my life. My son is still young, 11, and only typically needs immunizations to get thru life. When I was a kid I used to go into absolute panic attacks when approached by a needle for any reason, I have grown out of that and can control it know. I know to accept the terms and press forward. My son, however, has not learned to process his hatred and phobia of needles just yet. I see now what I used to put my mother through when I was younger because to an outsider looking in they see an extremely unruly child, not one who is scared to death being in the mere presence of a single needle of any sorts. I have found commending him on his braveness and a trip to get ice cream usually helps him realize he does not hate me and I am not the meanest dad on the planet. What does this have to do with the price of tea in China? Well, a few days ago my son had an accident with a pair of extremely sharp scissors.

 

Wednesday morning I am at work in my normal routine when I get an unexpected call from the nurse at the school my son attends. The short version of the story is that my son has had his hand impaled by a pair of scissors and no amount of pressure or bandages is stopping the bleeding. As I don’t work too far from his school, I informed my supervision that I had an emergency and I will be leaving immediately. When I get to the nurses office at the middle school I see he has his hand held high above his head which had a bandage on it, the nurse holding pressure on it, and there was still blood dripping down his arm. I was a bit shocked because I did not know what to expect exactly since the nurse just said it was a deep wound. I didn’t bother looking at the wound since it was obvious he was going to need some stitches. I could see my little man had been crying since his eyes were very red and I could tell he was pretty confused as to what was going on and the severity of this situation. We leave the school to go get into the truck and the only thing my son seems to be concerned with is getting blood on the seats. I let him know if it happens………it happens. I called his mom real quick to let her know I was on my way to the minor emergency room if she wanted to meet us there. We began to drive while I held pressure on his wound. He laid his head on my shoulder, looked up to me, and told me that everything will be okay, please stop looking so scared. I was scared. I didn’t know what to expect. Nobody wants to see their baby bleeding and in pain.

 

We arrived at the minor emergency room pretty quick. His mom was waiting for us as she works right across the street form it. We go in, the nurse sees the the bleeding and escorts my son and I back to the exam room. They held my wife back to do the paperwork. Immediately the doctor unwrapped his hand to asses the injury. He pointed out that nothing important had been struck and it will be a simple fix. Talk about being relieved. So, while they prepped to do stitches they set out a container with betadine for his to soak his hand in for a bit. Its time to start. I knew what was coming. We were fixing to be very unhappy campers. My son laid back and I positioned myself over his chest where I could block his view and hold down his hand and arm. At this point I had realized how strong he has become, this had the potential to not be easy. I knew the instant the first shot to deaden the area had happened because I saw the sheer terror in his eyes. I watched as shot number 2 and shot number 3 were injected directly into the wound. It was extremely hard to watch but it was better than seeing my sons face, something I could not bear to watch. As the doctor began his first stitch I turned my attention to my son, his head cradled in my open arm, I continued to talk to him as I stroked the top of his head. The procedure took about 10 minutes, a time which does not compute in the mind of my son who said it felt like days long, mot minutes long. As soon as it all wrapped up my wife finally made it in. She got there just in time to hear the doctor tell us care instructions and a stitch removal date, which is seven days. When we left to head home and my wife to work I detoured, of course, to stop for ice cream to soothe the trauma my son just experienced.

 

So, by now you are probably wondering what happened to wound his hand. Its a funny story, actually, and so simple that it still bewilders me how such a wound could happen. My son was in science class, working on a partnered project of sorts. He reached for his scissors without looking while at the same exact moment his partner was reaching for them. Both both had a grip on the scissors when his partner realized what was happening and let go. That force from letting go resulted in the scissors impaling my sons hand. When the scissors where removed the blood began squirting, resulting in a swift trip to the nurses office, and resulting in the phone call I received.  See, simple. Now, my son believes he is joining my club, the club of scarred boys. A club where he will one day be able to tell his stories about his scar to anyone who chooses to listen. I, of course, got a big laugh from this as I didn’t know I actually belonged to a club. I do have scars, 19 visible scars, which have been explained many times to him over the years. He says I have most of my scars to remind me of how I cheated death one day, I chuckle at that also. Maybe he will be lucky, maybe he will only get this, his second surgical scar. But, like I always say, life happens in unpredictable ways which we can’t always control. I can’t express how proud I am of my son, he faced his worst needle experience to date with little fuss or muss.