Taking one on the chin
Well, Samantha has finally learned how it feels to get stitches. Last night at bath time, she was monkeying around in the tub, slipped, and smacked her chin on the side of the tub. I tell me kids to refrain from leading with their chins, but they just don’t listen. I was sitting about a foot away from her when it happened, undressing the Bean for a bath. I witnessed the whole thing, and it was bad. Children’s heads make a revolting thud whenever they make impact with solid objects. Samantha came up screaming and holding her chin. I didn’t notice the blood streaming through her fingers at first, because she was also bleeding inside her mouth.
Kate took her to the ER, where she ended up with 5 stitches. The poor child was so scared and upset that she wouldn’t even let the triage nurse place the pulse ox. She had to be given a dose of Versed just to calm her down to the point where they could stitch her back together.
The eerie thing about all of this, is that she was horsing around, doing the same thing that Patrick was doing when he fell and cut his chin last year. She landed on the same part of the tub, and received the same amount of stitches. A co-worker of mine said that we need to do something to our tub to make it safe. I agree. The one thing that would make our tub more safe would be to keep my kids out of it…
* * *
I work in a hospital, so I see many strange things. Things that would have bothered me a few years ago don’t anymore. I usually note strange behavior more than anything else now. Last week I stepped into the men’s room only to be forced back by a gentleman who was attempting to leave the restroom with his bicycle. It was the first time I’ve seen someone take a bike into the bathroom with him.
Several times I’ve seen women walk into the men’s room, only to realize the mistake and hurry back out blushing. But one day while I was in the hall waiting for a co-worker, I saw a woman walk in, and spend quite a bit of time in there. When she strolled out, she acted like she owned the place. Either she wasn’t really a woman, or she didn’t care, or she didn’t know. Either way, what do I care?
I had one of my most embarrassing moments in a bathroom here at the hospital. I walked into the bathroom to find an older man with a prosthetic forearm trying to pick a notebook up off of the floor. In an attempt to be useful, I inquired, “Can I give you a hand?” As soon as I said “hand” and looked again at the hook on the end of his arm I realized what an ass I am. He politely declined my help, picked up his notebook and left.
The funniest moment I had in that bathroom was one day when I was standing at the urinal, and I looked over my shoulder to see a man, clad in biking shorts and a biker’s helmet enter. He was holding a clear bottle with some pink powder in the bottom. He turned the sink on, filled the water bottle, shook it up, and set it on the counter. He then proceeded to the stall. Meanwhile, another gentleman stepped away from the urinal, turned the sink on, picked up the biker’s bottle, and poured some of the biker’s “Kool-Aid” on his hands. After rubbing his hands together and rinsing them off, he dried his hands and left the restroom. I wanted to tell him about his mistake, but I figured it didn’t matter. He probably went the rest of the day walking around with fresh-smelling cherry scent on his hands.
Well, Samantha has finally learned how it feels to get stitches. Last night at bath time, she was monkeying around in the tub, slipped, and smacked her chin on the side of the tub. I tell me kids to refrain from leading with their chins, but they just don’t listen. I was sitting about a foot away from her when it happened, undressing the Bean for a bath. I witnessed the whole thing, and it was bad. Children’s heads make a revolting thud whenever they make impact with solid objects. Samantha came up screaming and holding her chin. I didn’t notice the blood streaming through her fingers at first, because she was also bleeding inside her mouth.
Kate took her to the ER, where she ended up with 5 stitches. The poor child was so scared and upset that she wouldn’t even let the triage nurse place the pulse ox. She had to be given a dose of Versed just to calm her down to the point where they could stitch her back together.
The eerie thing about all of this, is that she was horsing around, doing the same thing that Patrick was doing when he fell and cut his chin last year. She landed on the same part of the tub, and received the same amount of stitches. A co-worker of mine said that we need to do something to our tub to make it safe. I agree. The one thing that would make our tub more safe would be to keep my kids out of it…
* * *
I work in a hospital, so I see many strange things. Things that would have bothered me a few years ago don’t anymore. I usually note strange behavior more than anything else now. Last week I stepped into the men’s room only to be forced back by a gentleman who was attempting to leave the restroom with his bicycle. It was the first time I’ve seen someone take a bike into the bathroom with him.
Several times I’ve seen women walk into the men’s room, only to realize the mistake and hurry back out blushing. But one day while I was in the hall waiting for a co-worker, I saw a woman walk in, and spend quite a bit of time in there. When she strolled out, she acted like she owned the place. Either she wasn’t really a woman, or she didn’t care, or she didn’t know. Either way, what do I care?
I had one of my most embarrassing moments in a bathroom here at the hospital. I walked into the bathroom to find an older man with a prosthetic forearm trying to pick a notebook up off of the floor. In an attempt to be useful, I inquired, “Can I give you a hand?” As soon as I said “hand” and looked again at the hook on the end of his arm I realized what an ass I am. He politely declined my help, picked up his notebook and left.
The funniest moment I had in that bathroom was one day when I was standing at the urinal, and I looked over my shoulder to see a man, clad in biking shorts and a biker’s helmet enter. He was holding a clear bottle with some pink powder in the bottom. He turned the sink on, filled the water bottle, shook it up, and set it on the counter. He then proceeded to the stall. Meanwhile, another gentleman stepped away from the urinal, turned the sink on, picked up the biker’s bottle, and poured some of the biker’s “Kool-Aid” on his hands. After rubbing his hands together and rinsing them off, he dried his hands and left the restroom. I wanted to tell him about his mistake, but I figured it didn’t matter. He probably went the rest of the day walking around with fresh-smelling cherry scent on his hands.
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