A few weeks ago Junior was making a weapon for himself by cutting a sword shape out of a cardboard box. He was using some nice, new, large scissors that we had recently bought in a three-pack at Costco, since we were tired of never being able to find the scissors.
I had noticed this activity as I was passing through the kitchen and asked him what he was up to. He told me, and because we are the type of family that allows our children to do all sorts of dangerous things (such as chop wood, shoot bows and arrows, play with fire, etc.) I thought it was great he was learning to wield a large and sharp object and I went on my way.
A few moments later, from my room, I could hear sounds of trauma. Interestingly, there was no screaming or yelling. Instead I heard gasps and scurrying and a few terrified moans. I did hear Buttermilk Sky say, agonizingly, "Oh, I can't look at it!"
I ran out to find that Junior had indeed sliced his arm. Then I joined in the panic.
I think that the older I get, the more difficult it is for me to deal with blood and injuries. (Luckily, we haven't had a whole lot to deal with.) I feigned calm and tried to assess the situation while looking at it as little as possible. Since I was pretty sure I was seeing his arm innards, I covered it with gauze and got on the internet to find an urgent care and off we went.
Junior was super brave. He didn't cry at all. He only grimaced when the doctor stuck him with two huge shots of Novocaine, but he didn't move or make a sound. I did a good job, too. I was able to hold things together until he was mostly stitched up and then had to leave before the nausea and lightheaded-ness got the best of me.
Isn't skin amazing? It's really kind of thin in a lot of places and seems really fragile when you see it open and then sewn together--Junior's skin seemed so tender that I was amazed that the thread didn't tear right through. But in spite of it's seeming fragility our skin covers us up and holds things in and keeps us together for the most part.
Look, I have waxed poetic. I apologize in advance.
Ode to Skin
Dear skin, lovely skin;
Thank you for keeping the rest of me in.
Your elasticity moves me.
Your complexity grooves me.
You facilitate sensation.
You control evaporation.
You store and synthesize.
You protect and regenerize.
Dear skin, lovely skin;
Thanks for sticking with me through thick and through thin.
PS. If there are any doctors out there looking for a business opportunity, come start up another urgent care facility in Carson City--there is only one here and it could use some healthy competition.
