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Nov 29

Hospital Phobia

No kid likes getting shots or bloodwork, and mine are no exception.   Of the three, I think Julianna handles it the best, but it’s possible that it’s just that she’s younger and I’m more experienced.  Sam and Jessie are both an absolute disaster when it comes to the possibility of a needle (Sam might be slightly worse, because he goes to rage and fury as opposed to terror and begging for mercy like Jessie).

Jessie’s had more than her fair share of injuries, far eclipsing Julie and Sam combined.  Actually, neither Sam or Julie has ever had a serious injury, with the exception of the concussion that Sam had (when Jessie closed the door on him – but on the upside, then they were concussion buddies).  Poor Jessie had had stitches on her face twice, a broken foot, broken wrist, finger sprain, there was an ankle injury in there too somewhere.   And a random knee injury that required an MRI and a visit to an orthopedist.   So she’s been there, done that when it comes to injuries.  Her two stitches incidents were when she was very young.  The first one was on her little cheek when she was two years old, she was jumping on her cousin’s bed, fell off and cut her cheek open.  The second one was just after Sam was born when she was three and a half (slipped while running and slammed into the table, cutting her head open again).  She doesn’t really remember the stitches, but remembers enough to know that it wasn’t a fun experience.

And of course, she had to be the one to slice her finger open.  We were at my parent’s house, and they have one of those old-fashioned glass door knobs on the bathroom.  We had close to thirty people there on Thanksgiving, and she had to be the one who grabbed the door in exactly the wrong place.  The cut stretched along the inside of her middle finger, thru one knuckle and deep enough so that I was worried.  Actually, there was a big crowd of family members who all huddled around her, worried and convinced that she needed to go to the hospital.  She freaked out, begging me not to make her go, asserting that she WASN’T going, no matter what I said, and then switching back to pleading and begging.

It was so bad that even Marc (traditionally, not a man to rush to the ER) agreed that she should go, if for no other reason than to show her that she could do it.  She was so afraid of going, it was almost painful to watch her beg and plead for us not to make her.  Meanwhile, the cut is bleeding and bleeding, because the more agitated she got, the more the blood pumped.

She went, and was actually okay during the visit.  It helped, obviously, that the doctor said she didn’t need stitches, and that we only had to have it thoroughly cleaned and then glued back together.  Now she’s got her finger wrapped and in a splint that’s making her nuts – and she has to wear it thru Tuesday.  By then the cut should have healed enough that she can unwrap it and the glue will just flake off, I guess.

It’s fine, there’s no lasting damage and it’ll heal with hopefully only a tiny scar.  But wow – I know I’m really tired of having her readjust and rewrap and complain about yet another splint or cast, I can only imagine how much it sucks for her.


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