Kitty Whiskers

January 24, 2009

When my son was not quite three years old he had to get 18 stitches sewed into his face…his cute little cheek.  He had gone to the farm with his father that day to work with his dad and grandpa.  Farming season… no doubt.

I was at work when I received a call from husband…”Hey babe.  How’s your day?”

“Fine.  Just working on payroll… How about you?”

“Not too good.  We’re on the way to the hospital with your son.”

I still don’t know why he said, ‘your son.’  He’s actually our son.  It’s just his way to talk like that… carrying on…

“The hospital?  Why?  What’s wrong?!”

My heart stopped.

The whole thing was eery and creepy.  I knew something was wrong.

The phone disconnected.  Damn country life – randomly placed cell towers.

I frantically tried to call back.  No one answered.  I tried all the cells of all the people that were at the farm that day.  Noone answered.

I replayed the whole conversation in my head.  No crying.  You’re taking my son the hospital after a farming accident and I don’t hear him crying in the background~??  Maybe the accident didn’t involve my son?  But then why would you say, ‘your son’ if it didn’t involve my son?  I analyzed and analyzed every word, every enunciation, every sound.

I closed the office.  Locked the door.  Raced to the hospital.  It was less than two minutes from me but about twenty minutes from the farm.  So I sat in the ER all alone and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Finally they come rushing in.  Husband had my son in his arms.  Blood everywhere.  Someones tshirt on my son’s face trying to stop the bleeding.  I was terrified.  I searched for clues of any and all symptoms.  I said, then yelled, “What happened??”  I needed to measure this on my own.  I didn’t want someone else’s opinion of, ‘he’s fine’.  I needed to know for sure.

My son lay there practically lifeless in my husband’s arms.  His eyes were closed like he was sleeping.  The color was drained from his face.  I was still frantic — someone just tell me what happened!

As the doctor’s took him back and examined him I learned he had been attacked by a dog.  His eyes were only closed because that’s how he was dealing with the pain/shock.  His brain, heart, vital organs were all fine. 

Breathe.

I choked back tears as I watched them strap him into a papoose so that he could not move when they sewed into his skin, eighteen stitches.  I held his hands and rubbed his legs.  Through some of the pokes I had to turn my head.  I wished it were me and not him.

He saw smiling face.  He heard me say it was almost over and how brave he was.  He looked to me for reassurance.  I gave it to him.  But it was a lie.  I was helpless and so was he.  All I had was prayer.  Prayer worked.

He had a couple places that they taped/glued instead of sewed.  He had a near miss right by his eye.  It started right in the corner of his eye and barely missed his eyeball.

I wished I had pictures but I’m glad I don’t.  In my mind I will never forget that first view of his cheek cut wide open full of dirt and dog hair.

The story is that the dog didn’t attack him.  They say the dog jumped up on him to play and his claws accidentally pierced through his skin.  Truth be told, nobody saw it.  They were five feet away but turned facing the other direction. 

I believe he was bit in at least one place.  On his face you could clearly see teeth above and below his chin/cheek showing where at one time the dog had most of my son’s face in his mouth.

He’s fine now.  He barely has a little scar.  By teenage years it will likely be nonexistent.  It may just look like a little dimple if you can see it at all.

When he had the stitches in he looked like he had navy blue kitty whiskers.  So that’s what we called them.

A few weeks ago when I had some stitches, I tried to hide them from him.  I knew if he saw them he would think that I had been through the same ordeal he had experienced.  It wasn’t nearly as bad for me.  The dr created the reason for the stitches and then stitched me…all while I was somewhat comfortably medicated.

However, eventually he did see them and he did panic  for me.  And now, even though my stitches are out, he checks my scars just about every day to see how they’re healing.  LoL —  my momma’s boy.  I feel so sorry for his girlfriends/future wife.  It will take a special girl to love him enough to deal with me.  🙂

By the way — the dog belonged to the renters of the farm house that husband’s dad owns.  They moved out of state and I don’t know what happened to the dog.

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