It's March - Time for the month long Slice of Life challenge thanks to Two Writing Teachers.
(Continued from yesterday's post)
It was very apparent that a band-aid and time were not going to heal this. The gash, being both a smidge on the wide side and a smidge on the deep side, was going to need closing medically. Since going to the doctor was not the option she wanted, the evening was not going to be fun and I told her so. I also told her there wasn't an option. Our job, as her parents, sometimes involves making her do things she doesn't want to do, and this was one of those.
Before anything else, I wanted to get her calmed down. We moved from the entryway to my recliner to cuddle and I grabbed the iPad, trying to get her request for ice skating videos to load. Daddy brought a slice of cheese as he prepared grilled cheese sandwiches - one of her favorites. After the slice of cheese she said she as full so I gathered a couple of snack, her evening medicine, and a light fleece. Shoving those things in my bag I let her choose a stuffed animal and we headed to the truck.
It was not lost on me that we were headed back the the ER I had been in as a patient myself just 36 hours previously. Even now, as I recall this time my blood pressure increases and I'm not sure I can get through all of it without turning into a mess. I will summarize to say, "She wasn't having any of it." After presenting the options, cajoling, negotiating, trying to put her in charge, and ultimately them trying to restrain her, I ended it. She was crying hysterically and then turned to a calm sob and said, very clearly, "Please don't hold me!"
"STOP!" I shouted.
That was it. She had clearly spoken her needs. Perhaps it is because I am relatively small and had an incident where someone I trusted held me against my will and no matter what I said, wouldn't let me go. Perhaps it is just what mothers do. Whatever the reason. This was not going to work. She was going to have to be put under general anesthesia.
Now remember, we are in Saudi. There isn't a doctor's office or urgent care. The ER was our only choice. The irony of it all is that when we arrived I knew we were not an 'emergency' and asked if we could see a pediatrician. The intake receptionist said we could, but first we would have to be seen by 'Section A', the uppity name for their ER. Now we were going to see a pediatric nurse and then a surgeon. The upside was that rather than the two stitches the ER doctor was going to do just to close it up, she was going to have someone who was able to take the time to make it as clean and mitigating a scar as possible. The down side was spending the night (we would have been home by now, even after stopping for ice cream if she hadn't been so scared) and she would be put under general anesthetic.
Upstairs we go!