So yesterday, in an incident involving a see-saw, the details of which I’m unclear on, Little Man took a hit on the head. We had to take him to the ER. He’s fine now – nothing worse than a little Frankenstein on the forehead. But I find myself unable to write a coherent account of the afternoon
Instead, I’m going to live-tweet 36 hours after the fact.
There really should be signs to the Children’s Hospital from Lake Calhoun down 28th St to Chicago Ave. I’m disappointed in the city of Minneapolis for failing to plan for my personal emergency.
The staff at Children’s Hospital are excellent, and seem, to a person, to possess a hairstyle aesthetic both fashionable yet understated.
Do they have hair briefings here? Somewhere there’s a corporate management guru emphasizing the importance of organizational hair brand synergy.
I want Iron Man scrubs. Or Batman. Do they have Batman? I’d be cool with either.
Next time I’m totally gonna have Little Man pee on me, then I can walk out with some Iron Man scrubs.
The ethics of ownership on loaner scrubs in these circumstances has to be blurry at best.
It takes a week of discussion, propoganda, and play doh bribes to get him to stand on a scale to get weighed with only moderate wrestling. If he does have to get stitches here, it’s gonna be ugly.
People who work with kids in hospitals or other situations not conducive to well mannered kinder – these people always think they have a varied and effective toolbox of techniques to win over the most screamiest of screamers. Then they meet my little man and they no longer labor under such delusions.
Whoever put TV’s in all the rooms at Children’s Hospital gets empanadas on my tab. All the empanadas they can comer.
From an afternoon’s viewing, I’ve come to the conclusion that the programming on NickJr. Is a dozen different flavors of the same dingus. Their timing, though, in terms of distracting toddlers with head wounds, makes up for a lot.
Blood doesn’t bother me much. Gaping head wounds, however…
Any squeamishness I had regarding gaping wounds, needles, etc. can apparently be overcome by the soul-wrenching guilt of holding my son down while he screams for help.
I hope to the depths of all the hells I don’t believe in that I never have to listen to my son screaming and crying to go home through a gas mask while I hold him down. Given what a terrible patient he is, this is not likely.
Even with nitrous it took three of us to hold him down to get 9 stitches in his forehead. Is it wrong to be a little proud of this?
I feel that if your child gets nitrous for an operation, then once the whole thing’s over the parents should get a couple pulls off the mask too.