No More Stitches

After Moe's stitches were in, the ER doc assured me that Moe would be fine, but understood "it must be hard when you can't really explain what was going on." I told him that maybe in this case it was a little easier, since he didn't know it would hurt so he wasn't scared in anticipation. The stitches weren't any worse for it and the waiting process was so much easier.

Getting the stitches out was the same. We had our regular pediatrician take them out. I was nervous with the anticipation of how it was going to go. But Moe was in a great mood. He was excited that I picked him up early from school. He was excited that he got to be with both Jeff and I without his annoying little sister taking away our attention. He had no reason to be concerned.

And in this case, neither did I. The process was fast and easy. Moe sat on Jeff's lap and held his arms still with one hand and his head with the other. Although Moe wasn't thrilled with having his head held still, he didn't put up much of a fuss and he let the doctor get close with those sharp scissors. At the end, she even remarked how impressed she was with how well he did and with his eye contact. He is usually a pretty happy kid.

Because things were going so well, and because we were there, (and are mean, mean parents), we decided to go ahead and give him a flu shot too. Lucky kid. He didn't cry at the shot, but he did give us a quite a look. He may not have words, but his eyes gave us a sharp "now that was just uncalled for."

A Visit to the ER (Part 2)

We do what we can to protect our children. We vaccinate. (Or not. Let's not go there today.) We keep sharp knives off the counter and we cover the electrical outlets. But as I found out on Wednesday, kids find a way to injure themselves anyway.

To continue with our story, we got to the emergency room at a small, local hospital that we had never been to before. As emergency rooms go, it wasn't too bad. Jeff pointed out, "no bullet proof glass!" But all ER visits require the one thing Moe hates to do: wait. But wait we did, first in the waiting room, then in our little curtained-off cubicle.

I was pretty calm while we were waiting. It helped that Moe was no longer bleeding, and that the triage nurse put some gauze over his cut so I wasn't staring at my failure as mother it. It was about this time that I realized that we had left the house in such a hurry that I neglected to get either a shirt or shoes for Moe. It was cold in the waiting room, but he didn't seem to mind.

When we were taken back to the area with the beds, I got really nervous. Fortunately, we had at least another 30 minutes of waiting for that to wear off.

The doctor finally came in. He was young and very nice, and he confirmed that Moe would need three or four stitches. We told him that Moe was autistic so wouldn't be able to understand his directions. The doctor was incredibly kind to us and Moe. I was concerned that Moe wouldn't be able to stay still for the stitches. It turns out that most four year olds won't stay still for stitches, and he knew just what to do.

They started by putting a topical anesthesia on the area. Then we had to wait 20-30 minutes. We gave Moe a snack and changed his diaper. Moe played with my iPhone. I reversed the camera and showed him how to take pictures of himself. (Side note: why did I never think to show him that before?)

About 45 minutes later, the doctor and RN (an awesome guy with a hilarious southern accent that I can only describe, with apologies, as "redneck") came back with their tray of medieval torture devices. We swaddled Moe in a sheet, something we do in OT for calming. He was okay. Jeff held Moe's torso. The RN held his head still. And the doctor started with the Lidocaine injections.

The first shot wasn't too bad. Moe cried a bit, but it didn't seem horrible. But the second shot, which seemed a bit more directly into the wound, hurt. Moe screamed something like I've never heard from him before. I felt it physically. Even though I knew I it was necessary, that sound has stayed with me. And Moe never stopped crying - hard - through the whole process, from two more Lidocaine shots, to cleaning out the cut with water, to three stitches.

Despite the Lidocaine, I swear Moe could feel that first stitch going in. The doctor said he didn't think so. After the painful shots, I'm sure Moe was scared, didn't like his head being held so tightly. Coincidentally, one of my BFF's kids had the exact same injury when he was little, and she also said he didn't recover during the process.

As you can see, the cut is 2 feet long and
required 117 stitches.

As soon as they were done, and Jeff picked him up, Moe was completely fine. No more tears at all. But I haven't quite recovered. I can still see his hands covered in blood and a gaping wound on his head. I can still hear his scream from that shot, and see the fear in his eyes as that first stitch went in. In the scheme of things, this was minor. How do parents watch their kids suffer through worse? I hope I never know.

Also, I'm not looking forward next week, when Moe gets his stitches removed.

It is, however, strangely nice to write about this. Moe's autism had very little to do with what happened or how the process went. Through all the waiting, he was so well behaved in the ER. He hasn't been messing with his stitches, and he's letting me put antibiotic ointment on it. I wish it had never happened, but sometimes it is nice to have typical parenting stuff to talk about.

That reminds me: I must ask our realtor to make sure our next house has padded walls.

A Visit to the ER (Part 1)

Yesterday started off like any other day. I was excited because my BFF and her two boys were coming over for dinner. I made pizza dough in the morning, Jelly and I had the first day of the new session of music class, and things seemed under control. Oh, how wrong I was.

A little after 4:00, Jelly was watching Sesame Street and Moe was doing what he always does when the TV is on: watches a bit, runs down to his room, plays a bit, and comes back. He doesn't sit still for long. If he's out of my sight for too long, and I can't hear what he's doing, I check on him, and often will find him in some precarious spot like the top of his toy bin or standing on his dresser.

He's also a little bit clumsy. I'm sure this is because of his motor delays and nothing to do with my athletic prowess. It isn't unusual for him to trip occasionally as he runs down the hall. So yesterday, when Moe tripped in the living room, I barely even looked up. He wasn't on top of a bookshelf or swivel chair; he was maybe ten feet away from me. But Moe never cries when he falls. He always just gets back up. He cries when he's hungry or frustrated, but like many kids on the spectrum, he seems to have a very high pain tolerance or experience pain differently than you and I. So when he didn't get up from the ground, had his head buried in his hands, and started crying, I went to him.

And when I picked up his head, all I saw was blood. I ran to get a clean towel, and see what was going on. It wasn't his teeth or eyes, but a pretty deep cut on his forehead. I was worried at first that he actually landed on something, but that didn't seem to be the case, so I just held him and applied direct pressure.

Jelly was aware of what was going on, but since she doesn't understand blood yet, she wasn't too freaked out. The dog, ever sensitive to the slightest increase in stress in the room, immediately started barking. She always knows how to make a difficult situation just a little bit harder.

At that point, I was a little stumped. I didn't want to just put the kids in the car and run to the ER, since I felt like I needed to keep applying pressure to the wound. (At what point does a cut qualify as a wound?) After a minute, I ran for the phone, called Jeff and told him to come home. I also called my BFF, who was supposed to be coming in another half hour or so, to come right away.

Then I waited, holding Moe and the towel. After about 10 minutes, Moe did not want to sit still. He was not amused at the towel I still insisted on holding to his head, and kept trying to go to the table for a snack. Both Jeff and the BFF called, but between Moe's crying and the dog barking, I couldn't hear a thing. All I could say was "just come here." She arrived in about 15 minutes, and Jeff was right behind her. Apparently, he made some daring traffic moves right in front of a cop, but fortunately did not get pulled over.

By the time we got in the car, Moe had stopped bleeding, but it was pretty clear he was going to need stitches. He now has three of them. That story tomorrow...