The First Cut Is The Deepest

Marianne Hill - 28 Apr 15

It’s finally happened. We have survived our first panicked dash to The Accident & Emergency department following a minor accident. Quite frankly I’m surprised we’ve managed to last this long without needing one, especially when I take into account the boisterousness and ‘safety last’ approach to everything that my two boys have wholeheartedly adopted. My eldest is 7 and the youngest is 4 and so I’m feeling a not inconsiderable sense of achievement, bordering on a slightly smug pride that I’ve succeeded in keeping my boys in one piece for that many years!

It happened last week. This time last week in fact. Yes, this time last week we were on our way to the A&E with Sam, blood literally pouring from a cut to his forehead following a late night collision with his bedside table.

My child was hurt, possibly seriously and I had to keep myself together and deal with it. The cut was on the bridge of his nose, between his eyes. Walking into his room on hearing his screams that night I was horrified to find a huge puddle of blood on the floor.

There was blood splattered up the wall, blood pooled on his bed and my child was also drenched in blood and panicking because he didn’t know where the blood was coming from. The blood coursed down his face and into his eyes so he couldn’t see and as I stood open mouthed at the sight laid out before me I remember thinking that it more resembled a murder scene than my child’s bedroom.

My first instinct was to panic but I thought, no, I’m the parent, my job is to keep it together, tell him everything is going to be fine, reassure him that mummy is here and that I love him and I’m going to look after him. This was it, the serious stuff. If I didn’t do it then nobody else would. It’s a difficult thing to act calm and give comfort when you’re scared yourself but thinking back on when I was a child and I was hurt or upset or scared it was my mum who was there for me, my mum who took away the hurt, the sadness and the fear and who made everything alright. Now it was my turn to do that for my little boy who was scared more than I’ve ever seen him scared before.

Eventually the bleeding stopped enough for us to be able to get in the car and go to the hospital. At the hospital the doctors and nurses looked down on my little boy who looked so small and fragile lying on the bed, they inspected the wound and informed me that they hoped the cut could be closed using butterfly stitches.

At this point and as they closed in to take a better look at the wound there issued from it a jet of blood so sudden and so strong that it hit the ceiling, causing the gathered doctors and nurses to gasp in surprise and jump out of the way. Sam’s fate was sealed, he was going to need actual stitches.

Now anyone who knows Sam will be aware of the fact that he isn’t usually the bravest of children. The slightest cut, bump or scratch can have him screaming and crying uncontrollably. Consequently the thought of him having to endure stitches filled me with dread, surely there was no way he would cope with that. But I was wrong. He did.

Holding tightly on to each other’s hands we got through it together. He told me that this was the scariest night of his life, that he was scared of the needles and was frightened that he would have to spend the night alone in the hospital. I told Sam that I had been in that very same room when I was pregnant with him and I too had had to have lots of needles, that I didn’t like them too much either but that sometimes we just have to be brave and do things that we would rather not do.

I told him that he would be coming home tonight and that things would get back to normal once more. While I was speaking I recognised my mum’s voice in my words. I could imagine her saying the same things to me and that realisation reassured me. I wasn’t doing too bad a job. As the nurse finished stitching the wound I said to Sam that whatever happened in the future, should he fall over in the playground, fall off his bike, have to have a splinter removed, whatever it may be, he would always have this night to look back on, to compare things to and put them in perspective. He could be proud of himself and think ‘I have survived much worse than this!’

One week later we had to return to the hospital to have the stitches removed. The scar that remains is a reminder for me of how brave Sam was that night and how we coped with the fear and worry. It may have been our first visit to the A&E but I’m sure it won’t be our last. I will apply Bio Oil religiously every morning and night in an effort to erase the scar but whether it completely disappears or not, our memory of that night will never be erased. The night that we experienced our first trauma and survived.

Marianne Hill

Marianne Hill is a primary school teacher who, in those rare, quiet moments when she is not surrounded by children at work or at home, can usually be found either writing articles or blog posts, reading, listening to music or posting on Facebook. Alternatively she could be out running or cycling around the Estepona area of the Costa del Sol of Spain, where she lives with her children Sam, 7 and Henry, 5. Twitter - @marianne4373

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