A Little Scissor Safety

I am a total wimp with anything related to the body. Well, anything related to cutting, stabbing, sewing, or basically showing blood oozing from a body. I don’t handle it very well. It’s very nauseating and makes me very squeemish. I know what you’re all thinking, “how the heck, Amy, are you going to take care of your boys when they have a laceration or broken bone?” Trust me, I’ve asked myself that very same question, most recently today.

This morning, I decided to skip out on the Y (bad move) and stay home to finish up some much needed yard work. My husband spent last night trimming up all of our bushes in the front yard so that I could get busy mulching today. It started out well. The morning was perfect, a little overcast with a cool breeze that was seeming to combat the humidity. I brought Henry outside and put him on his blanket so he could get some much needed Vitamin D. Davey joined us with his rake and shovel, which he drove handsomely around from the backyard in his jeep.

Shortly after cleaning up the clippings from last night, Davey decided that he really wanted to go inside and watch Frozen. Fine by me seeing as how it’s a lot easier to get work done when I’m not having to replace all the mulch he’s throwing out (having my little helper is really counter productive most days) or chasing him as he decides he wants to play in the next door neighbor’s flower garden. I took a short break to get Davey and Henry situated before heading back out to finish up my task at hand.

I pick up bag after bag, lifting them with my legs and throwing them over my shoulders. I was going to make the best of the fact that I had skipped the Y. This was going to be my weight-lifting/cardio class, plus it had an added bonus…a freshly mulched yard and another item marked off of my To Do List hanging on the fridge. After hauling about 20 bags, I took another quick breather and broke into the bags and spreading mulch, and here’s where things started going down hill.

I was periodically taking breaks to come back inside to check on the boys. Davey is notorious for getting into things he shouldn’t be in and well I didn’t want Henry to be wailing the entire time. So, in my effort to try to speed things along, I took a short cut with cutting open the bags. I took my pair of scissors, opened them up so the blades were forming a “V” and started to use one of the blades as a razor. I was moving right along, holding the bags up against my leg and then slicing into them. It went so fast. Before I knew it, I was 3/4th of the way done with the mulch! And this is when it happened.

I held up one of the bags against my left leg, opened up the scissors, slashed the blade across and through the bag and right into my left thigh. Hold on, I’m getting nauseous as I type this and may need to take a break. (Cue Vivaldi’s Four Seasons). Ok, I’m back now.

For a moment, I didn’t dare look at my leg. Maybe it was just a little knick, but then I started feeling a warm liquid rolling down and that’s when I looked and when I started to get a little faint. I’d sliced far enough into my leg that I could see the interior of the skin and it looked like chicken that had been sitting, thawed out, uncooked on the counter for days. Great! Now I’m not going to be able to eat chicken for a while.

After a quick trip across the street to my retired doctor and nurse neighbor to verify if I should try to have it stitched up (they looked at my like I’d gone crazy for asking such a stupid question), I called my aunt to stay with the boys and drove myself to the emergency room where I found out that I didn’t hit the muscle, but the laceration was 2 cm deep. Of course, I had to tell the story to the nurses and doctors as to how I did this. And of course they all asked me if I knew how to appropriately use scissors. Yes! I’m not an idiot (well only slightly).

I did make it back home to finish up the rest of the mulch before taking the rest of the afternoon off. I do blame this injury on being a mother. How could I, you ask. Well, easy. I seem to have left my brain at the turn off to Motherhood Lane years ago when I decided to become a mother. AND…if I hadn’t been rushing back and forth to check on the boys, then perhaps I wouldn’t have done this. It is what it is and the past is the past.

On a more positive note…Davey thinks the stitches on my leg are the coolest thing he’s ever seen and it gave me an excellent opportunity to discuss scissor safety with him.

For the average person I run into on the street, I will no longer go by this story. The new story is that I got into a knife fight with some baddies who were looking to hurt my babies. I will deny the true story moving forward.

The casualty of today's yard work and my stupidity.
The casualty of today’s yard work and my stupidity.

Just a Mild Heart Attack

When I close my eyes, I can still see it happening. Sometimes it’s fast, so fast that I can’t even comprehend what is happening. Other times, it’s in slow motion and I watch in happen but I’m completely paralyzed incapable of really doing anything to prevent it. And even though it’s been a few days, I’m still having dreams and even nightmares about it.

We sat there on Monday afternoon, waiting to order our lunch. It was Day Two of our Disney vacation and today’s special treat was eating in the Rainforest Café at the opening of the Animal Kingdom. It was an interesting place, a place with mechanically operated animals and vines hanging from the ceiling. There were fish tanks with live fish, and trees and shrubs, and periodically the rumble of thunder followed by what sounded like rain that would arouse the jungle animals. Davey was loving it already.

We put Davey in his high chair and placed him at the corner of the table alongside me. My husband sat in the booth across from Davey and we had Henry in his car seat carrier onto of an overturned high chair, something made specifically for those parents (like myself) who prefer to keep their young children in a carseat. I didn’t have him buckled in, which I know is a big fat “no-no”, but I never thought something would happen.

Henry was reclined all the way back and instead of being turned to the side, he was facing the table. He’s quite the mover, my second spawn, and loves to kick. So, we sat there perusing the menu, talking to Davey, and periodically looking over at Henry to get one of his infectious smiles and laughs. And then it happened.

It’s almost like I knew it was going to happen before it even happened. I can’t really explain it, but it’s like I saw a quick glimpse of the future. Henry’s feet were touching the edge of the table and I’d already watched as the carseat and high chair swayed once. Why didn’t I say something then? Why didn’t I get up and move him? I don’t know.

His toes were curling on the table ever so slightly and then he flattened out his feet before finally giving a swift shove and that’s when the carseat carrier fell off the back of the upside down highchair. I watched as the carrier flipped over and landed upside down on the floor before rolling to its side.

“Oh my God!” I shouted as I jumped and pulled my screaming 4 month old from the carrier and took off running out of the restaurant.

At first, I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. I don’t know if I was afraid of what I might see or if I just wanted to keep hugging him and hoping that my hugs would cure anything that was wrong with him. My sister-in-law and mother-in-law joined me out in the lobby along with the manager, while my husband sat with Davey to make sure he was alright. That’s when I finally pulled Henry away from me and started to inspect him.

My knees were weak, even shaking, and I could feel the gut-wrenching pull in my stomach that was almost making me vomit. I felt like my heart had skipped a few beats and it continued to flutter as I found that there wasn’t a single scratch on him. No broken skin, no cuts or lacerations, and he was crying with real tears.

The manager called the EMT and Henry was checked out. There were no broken bones, no dents in his head (which is what really had me scared), his pupils were not dilated and by the time the EMTs arrived, he was already laughing again. I panicked briefly about if we would have to take him to the emergency room and what that meant for Davey. We were only at Disney World for a short amount of time and he’d been looking forward to it for so long. Would he resent his brother if we had to leave and go to the ER? How would we explain it to him? Thankfully, Henry was given the all clear and we were able to enjoy the rest of our day, but not without periodically waking him up to make sure that he didn’t have a concussion.

And this is how he was treated for the remainder of the day.
And this is how he was treated for the remainder of the day.

Looking back, I should have known and should have been prepared. Henry has slid, feet first, off of our couch before. I was sitting alongside him and he was wedged in with a boppy, but still he kicked himself lose and slid down onto the floor. It was a short slide and there were no injuries then either.

This will not be the last time I’m scared to death as a mother. I just wish if these boys of mine were going to do acrobatics, that they’d wait until they’re older and can at least tell me when something is wrong.

Welcome, Henry

I should have known Friday the 13th wasn’t just any typical day.  At least it definitely wasn’t a typical day for me.   This past Friday the 13th was to see the birth of my second son, Henry.   And although the day to be special, I still started out the day with it being typical.   Henry was to be born via a scheduled c-section, one I’d had before.   I’dchosen the c-section because it was not unchartered territory.  I knew what to expect and for me the unexpected is not something I want.   

You see, I’d heard stories about women in labor for hours and I really didn’t want any part of that.  Yeah, there’s a recovery time to the c-section, but with my last one it was minimal and very much bearable.  Again, I knew what I was getting myself into or so I thought.   you’d think I would learn to calculate in the unexpected, but I didn’t.  

My husband and I woke, showered, and started the process of getting the car loaded, Davey dressed, and the dog to the vet.   What we didn’t expect was for me to start contracting at 8 am.   Henry knew it was to be his birthday and was getting tired of waiting.   So, after dropping Davey off with my aunt, we went to the hospital an hour earlier than was to be expected, all the while I was trying to breath and calm myself.   Darn it for not attending any Lamaze classes.  My breathing techniququa was eased upon old episodes of “ER”.  Yes, please laugh and tell me I desethey the pain.   

Immediately, I was given a room in OB Triage where I was hooked up to a fetal monitor.   It was determined that I was contracting every 2 minutes.  Wonderful!   And to make things even better, my cervix was closed tight (much like it was with Davey)!   Fabulous!  And to add even more to that, I wasn’t going to receive any pain medication!   I was to endure this?   Obviously, the doctors and nurses were unaware to my low tolerance for pain.   

After 2 hours of contracions (not including those that had started while still at home), I take into the OR where I was given the greatest relief of the day…a spinal agent that numbed me from just below my breasts to the tips of my toes.  I felt like I was in heaven.   The surgery began.   I felt the same tugging and pulling as before.   Again nothing unusual.  And within a few minutes, Henry was born.  

It’s amazing some of the things that a mind forgets about in 2 years.  I remember the birth of my first son.   I remember it was quick and he didn’t scream or cry a lot.  I remember being able to see him and immediately kiss him although I wasn’t able to hold him.   What I don’t remember is really anything else like the OR, the nurses, the procedure.   This time I was a lot more alert.   Everything from the blue and white round lights that were stationed above my abdomen that allowed for a form of a mirror for me to see what was happening, to the smell of something burning and the intense feeling of nausea that was rolling over my body.   

When Henry was born, he was covered in pee and poop as he seemed to lose control of his bodily functions when he was expelled from the womb.   Within seconds of his birth, I became tired and started dry heaving.  My body wanted to vomit, but I couldn’t feel anything except for the need to vomit.  Tears rolled down my eyes and I prayed for God to just let me pas out.  I’m a wimp, I know.  I was administered an anti-nausea medication through my IV (it took the nurses 4 times to get an IV in me pre-surgery without my veins popping.  My arms and hands are still showing those bruised affects).  My husband took Henry and left the room while the doctor and nurses continued to work on stitching me up and at some point I fell asleep or passed out.  I did awake before being wheeled into the recovery room where my mom, dad, and husband sat with Henry.

Did I want to hold him?   No!   I felt like I couldn’t even raise my hand and that at any given point I was going to vomit.   A half an hour rolled by and I was finally able to hold my beautiful baby boy.   Beautiful is an understatement.   

Henry is the spitting image of his big brother.   His eyes are blue/grey.  His hair is brown.  He has his father’s chin, and the most wonderful capability to look at me and make me feel that my world is at peace.   Friday the 13th is a superstitious day, but for me it has become the most memorable one I’ve ever encountered.   

It was more of a painful road than I had anticipated, but totally and completely worth it.   Take a look for yourself.   I am one blessed woman!