Head Wound

"Jesse fell and cut his head!" Mae's voice quivered over the phone on Friday. My mother-in-law had tried to send him to the neighbourhood pediatrician but it was closed. I called MIL. Over the phone I could hear the boy screaming.

"Clean the wound, and apply pressure to stop the bleeding," I snapped orders through the chaos, remembering what little first aid I learnt at school. "It stopped bleeding," MIL advised and added, "Drive safely"

I can only guess what a traumatic experience it must have been to see her grandson bleeding profusely. I stepped on it.

I got there about 10 minutes later and it was an alarming sight. Both MIL and Anie, our maid, was covered in blood. My boy had cried himself to sleep in his kakak's arm. When I walked over and saw the wound in his forehead, I recoiled in shock and tears welled up in my eyes. It was a deep cut, 40mm long and about 6mm deep. I was dumbstrucked.

"Mae is on her way back," MIL said, "she said to wait."

I snapped out of whatever stupor I was in, and got up to leave. "I don't want Mae to see this," I explained. I doubt it she would be able to handle it.

The drive took forever with the lunch hour jam. On one hand I was thankful that Jesse was asleep and not crying and screaming. And yet, on the other hand, there was my precious little boy laying silently in his Kakak's arms with a gaping wound in his head. I didn't know what to think.

When we got to the hospital, Jesse awoke. Despite the pain he must have been going through, he didn't cry. "Are you okay, boy?" I asked. "Yes," he said in a sad little voice. It pained me.

The doctor was out for lunch and so the nurse covered the wound with a wet dressing. And all the nurses at Megah Medical Specialist Centre consoled the boy and told him what a brave boy he was. He was.

Mae arrived shortly after with a bag of goodies for the boy and it cheered him up plenty.

The doctor examined the wound. Apparently, it was so bad that it his muscle was cut. Mae saw it for the first time and her eyes went red.

The nurses restraint him and the doctor administered a local anesthetic jab into the wound. He struggled and cried a little. I almost did as I saw his forehead swell before my eyes from the injection. "He won't feel a thing when I stitch him up," Doc explained, "but he will probably cry out of fear."

By then Jesse was in good spirits again. By the time we were ushered into the operation theatre, he called out cheerfully, "See you later, Mommy," much to the nurses' amusement. He was thrilled with the little robe they let him wear, oblivious to the cut in his forehead.



In the theatre, they strapped him tight on the gurney. He started crying and begging me to let him loose. I had never felt so helpless in my life. The doctor went as quickly as he could, to spare the boy the agony. After two layers of sutures, some 11 stitches in all, I unstrapped him and hugged him close, and everything felt alright again. I guess I needed it as much as he did.

By the time we left the hospital, he was all happy as if nothing had happened. And over the weekend, it had been all good. No nightmares, no fevers and no crying.

But for Mae and I, and my Mother-In-Law, things may never be the same again.