Another day, another lesson in parenthood. We are lucky. Five years ago, when my wife found our house, I had no idea how great the house/yard/neighborhood, was going to be. When you consider the grief I have given her for some of the failings of our house, this is my mea culpa.
Picture this. Ruby is in the neighbor's backyard, bugging her about her garden and playing with her little friend. Alice and I are in the kitchen, peeling potato's, readying them to boil. Mango (the dog) is pressing her cold nose to my leg in an effort to induce me to throw the ball, repeatedly dropping it at my feet. It's a perfect spring day with a slight breeze, big puffy clouds, the smell of freshly cut grass, and my new Ozomatli album spinning on the record player. At that moment my day is like a lake first thing in the morning, the water is glass and the calmness is radiating, until...
DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD!
I look out the window over the sink and see Ruby hung up on the fence. This is not that uncommon of a sight but she is crying. I assume she has just got her pants caught on top of the fence and is stuck. So I saunter out to her, already lecturing, "Ruby you have to yell for me before you climb the fence, remember?" As I arrive, I soon realize that she has scratched herself pretty good but she seems to be in more pain than a scratch. We head inside so I can get a better look at her and I pull her left leg pant up. Oh damn. I'm starring at what appears to be an inch long tear, on the left inside of her thigh. When she was lifting her leg up and over the fence to climb down, it had caught on the sharp part of the fence and snagged her. Her weight (all 35lbs) had torn it a bit. Now, I feel like an idiot.
Thank god there is not much blood, but I can tell it hurts. We clean it off with a washcloth, my grandmother would be proud, and all she wants is a bandaid. I add some antibiotic cream to the bandaid, under Ruby's protests she says it makes it sting, and make the phone call to Emily.
"So babe, Ruby cut her leg on the fence."
"Is she okay?"
"I think so but I want you to decide if I should take her to urgent care."
"I'll be there in a couple of minutes."
So mom gets home and comes upstairs to look at it. Ruby is done crying and is trying to convince us that she should just stay home and lay in bed. Mind you she is four and has a substantial flesh wound that needs attention. Our consensus is that we need to take her to the urgent care. At this point it is decided that I will stay home with Alice and finish dinner, the potato's are still boiling, but Ruby wants me to go with her and mom to stay home. For some reason, pride probably, I'm glad she picked me to go. Hell, I'm partially responsible for this mess, I should be there to clean it up.
We get to urgent care and show the receptionist her leg and they move us into the triage room and take her vitals. I find it interesting that they must know her weight, blood pressure, temperature, and height, to assess her leg but I digress. Up to this point the nurses have done a great job not using the "stitches" word. Ruby really doesn't know what they are but in her mind the hurt like hell and she wants nothing to do with them. Well they usher us into room ten and another nurse comes in and says to Ruby, "can I look at your leg?" She shows her and the nurse says to our usher, "take her into the main room so they can use the light for stitches." You could see the blood rush out of Ruby's face and the anticipation was rapidly turning into dread. I abruptly remedy this predicament with my wonderful tack as I tell Ruby, "don't worry, she has no idea what she is talking about." Stares from the nurse.
So we get into the main room and another nurse comes in with the doctor who also wants to take a look at it. This doc had to touch the wound and poke at it to decide the best course of action. This does not endear himself to her, but I'm in constant communication with Ruby trying to justify his actions and calm her down. Next, they clean and sterilize the wound. Again, not too pleasant but she keeps a stiff upper lip and negotiates the giant plastic syringe as a parting gift and future bath toy. The clear anesthetic is graciously applied and we have to wait thirty minutes for the fun to begin. I know she is getting stitches but all Ruby knows is the the doctor is going to "fix" her up. Around this time Ruby looks at me and says, "Dad, I think we should go home." "Good try."
The doc enters along with two more nurses. Ruby's on the bed, I'm standing next to her holding both her hands, one nurse stands next to her to help the doctor, and a nurse at each leg. Is this necessary? Absolutely. So the doctor starts pulling and prodding to see if a flap of skin had curled under the rest of the skin. Yes it had. Ruby can't see what is going on but she is getting red and starting to cry and is scared more than anything. I keep telling her to look at me. The doctor then turns and picks up the sutures and has a scissors to cut them to length.
"DON'T CUT ME!!!" Ruby yells out.
We reassure her that he is not going to cut her but has to cut the string. He repeats this motion two more times and again she protests being cut. I try to be as honest as possible with my kids within reason and I decide to take this route again.
"Ruby, do you want to know what he is doing with that string?"
"Yes."
"You are getting stitches."
More tears and now two fingers in her mouth. After a few more minutes, Ruby is the proud owner of her first five stitches. When you play hard like her first is truly understandable. After an enjoyable popsicle and some instructions on care, we are free to go. My god she is a little trooper. She wants to call her grandpa and grandma to let them know what happened and how tough she is. I mean come on you have to tell people about it.
Finally we get home, eat some dinner, and since I feel like a jerk for not fixing that fence prior to this, she gets to lay with us in bed and watch a movie.
"So, I'm sorry about your leg. Is everything okay?"
"It's okay. I'm tough."
Yes you are.
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