Sunday, April 13, 2008
I don't understand men. I don't understand their love for power tools, or their bravados while using them. I don't understand their love of danger and laughing in injury, or death's, face. I don't understand why mother's are mocked at our 'lack of adventure' yet we are the first ones called upon when disaster strikes. Since I lack testosterone, I suppose I will never understand.
8:15 on a Sunday morning-my lovely boys let me sleep in. Daddy decides it would be a great idea to do some gardening work before it gets too hot. (We have been having a heat wave.) He also thought his six year old son could be of some help. While I was having bad dreams about Dante, Allan was teaching him the use of a power trimmer. The kind that cuts through branches the width of say....a finger. You see where this is going, don't you? I was awakened to the shrill screams of my husband, "I need you! I need you! We need to go to the hospital!" At this point I had no idea they were mucking around with the power tools. I thought maybe Dante had a seizure- he has had them in the past. As a nurse, I did jump out of bed but didn't get too excited. Until I saw the blood. And witnessed Allan about ready to hyperventilate. Now both my six year old and husband are covered in blood, so I don't really know which one is hurt. I am suspecting it is my husband as my son is not crying at all. Plus, my brain is foggy-I just jumped out of bed and ran down the stairs from a deep sleep. I finally notice that Dante has his hand under the sink and a bloody rag around it. I am starting to put it all together when Allan says "he was using the power tool."
WHAT.THE.HELL?! Just because the warning label doesn't give a specific age for use, it sort of makes sense to the common person to NOT let a six year old use a tool with sharp moving parts and that weighs about 5 pounds. "It has a safety on it, I don't know how he got his finger in there."
Ummm...probably because the testers WEREN'T SIX YEARS OLD! Poor Dante is standing at the sink with blood running down his arm, eyes big and round, not saying a word. I think he was afraid he was going to get in trouble. We wrapped his bloody finger in some paper towel, and rushed to the car to drive to the local ER. Dante still not crying or saying a word. Of course we hit every red light on the way to hospital. The ten minute drive felt like forever. Allan dropped Dante and me off at the entrance while he and Jonah went to go park the car. I must say, the ER was remarkably empty and we got right in. I guess if you have plan your accidents, 8 am on a Sunday would be the day to do it. I think the bloody towel around his hand helped our cause. Since Allan was out parking, I had to explain the injury. I also got stuck hearing the lecture on power tools and children. 'Tell it to his father,' I said, ' I was not supervising the supervisor.' We were remarkably lucky. The power edger only go the tip of his left index finger. Since the part that was cut was still dangling, the MD sutured it back on to act as a graft. It is a flap of skin that is no longer viable, but should hopefully allow the new skin to 'take' to it, and as the new tissue grows, the flap will fall off. It took four stitches on the tip of his petite finger. He will also probably lose part of his fingernail. Dante was such a brave kid. Even the workers at the hospital couldn't believe how brave he was. He did not cry even once. I don't think I could have done it with out crying. When the MD was giving his finger shots to numb it before the stitches, Dante said to me,'cover my ears, mommy.' He always asks me to cover his ears when he gets shots. I have never gotten an answer from his as to why, until now. I asked him why I need to cover his ears instead of his eyes. He said,'because in case I scream really loud, it won't burst my eardrums.' Poor sweet kid. Not only did he not cry, but he watched the procedure. With his ears covered. He now has a giant bandage around his finger that is tied to his wrist to keep it on. He is very proud of it and is showing it to everyone. His only gripe: He can't hold the numbchuck to play Wii, and he is not allowed to play Little League T-ball until his stitches are out. Now THAT almost made him cry. He was consoled with a mid morning donut at Yum Yum donuts. We walked in with blood on our pajamas but we didn't care. We were just happy that Dante still has five fingers on his left hand. Maybe from now on when the Mommy-wife-nurse says "be careful", she will not be met with an eye roll. But I doubt it.