Truth is, I Have Maternal Instincts
I've been super busy, hence my not writing. I've been spending Tuesday and Thursday afternoons at Ed's where I've done all kinds of odd jobs. Last week was even better, Renee decided to clean out her garage, which meant four extra days of work for me. She pays handsomely. I was able to pay my speeding ticket and still have a net profit. This week I cleaned at her house on Monday. I like cleaning for them, it gets me out of the house and keeps me busy.
The most exiting thing happened on Wednesday. Ian, my six year old cousin, found an unopened toy in the garage and went inside to open the plastic packaging for himself. He came back out to the patio, where I was sorting garage gadgets, with blood dripping from his fingers to his legs and all along the ground until he was to me, sobbing. I didn't freak. I saw the blood and knew he needed to rinse it off. There was so much blood, I've never seen it like that before, it looked like a murder scene inside the house! I pulled him to me and ran to the bathroom while cooing him to stop crying and that everything would be all right. He put his hands in the sink and I ran the cold water over them. There was so much blood I couldn't tell how bad the injury itself was.
He knicked the middle finger of his left hand, a deep diagonal slash, that required stitches. In the meantime, my Aunt rushed to the house and frantically dialed my mother. With all of the garage mess, her van was trapped in the driveway and it would have taken at least a half hour to dig her out. I wrapped a kitchen towel over the finger and got Ian's tears to slow. After the rinsing and wrapping, Ian and I headed outside to his driveway to wait for my Mum. I held his finger up above his heart and even let him rest his arm on my knee to keep it elevated. I asked him if he'd ever had stitches before, he hadn't. I told him I'd never had them either, wishing I had so I could tell him it wasn't scary or painful. I tried to reassure him by telling him that Zach, his older brother, had gotten them lots of times and turned out just fine.
Then, I sat next to him in Mum's van and we rushed into the doctor's office. He was taken back to a room immediately, even before my Aunt had filled out the paperwork, and my mother had finished in the restroom. I held his hand as we walked down the hallway. The nurse asked me for details and I explained while she wiped his hand off. Ian was brave. He barely cried after he was sat on the examining table. While we waited for the doctor, I took a paper towel and rinsed off his legs and feet. They had been used as a canvas for his bloody finger's sacrificial artwork. The nurse came back with a measuring tape and estimated that the gash was about an inch and a half long. The Doctor arrived in moments and gave Ian his first five stitches.
I didn't find out until later that my Aunt was a sobbing basket case herself. Mum told me she could barely understand my Aunt Renee on the telephone, all she could make out was "Ian needs stitches" and hurried all the way down Euclid and Patterson like a bat outta hell. Thank goodness she hadn't left for Saginaw, originally she meant to go thrifting after dropping me off that morning. The experience was a positive one. I don't usually get to be a hero, especially not to Ian. I've always told my mother I don't have maternal instincts, this experience has shown otherwise.
The most exiting thing happened on Wednesday. Ian, my six year old cousin, found an unopened toy in the garage and went inside to open the plastic packaging for himself. He came back out to the patio, where I was sorting garage gadgets, with blood dripping from his fingers to his legs and all along the ground until he was to me, sobbing. I didn't freak. I saw the blood and knew he needed to rinse it off. There was so much blood, I've never seen it like that before, it looked like a murder scene inside the house! I pulled him to me and ran to the bathroom while cooing him to stop crying and that everything would be all right. He put his hands in the sink and I ran the cold water over them. There was so much blood I couldn't tell how bad the injury itself was.
He knicked the middle finger of his left hand, a deep diagonal slash, that required stitches. In the meantime, my Aunt rushed to the house and frantically dialed my mother. With all of the garage mess, her van was trapped in the driveway and it would have taken at least a half hour to dig her out. I wrapped a kitchen towel over the finger and got Ian's tears to slow. After the rinsing and wrapping, Ian and I headed outside to his driveway to wait for my Mum. I held his finger up above his heart and even let him rest his arm on my knee to keep it elevated. I asked him if he'd ever had stitches before, he hadn't. I told him I'd never had them either, wishing I had so I could tell him it wasn't scary or painful. I tried to reassure him by telling him that Zach, his older brother, had gotten them lots of times and turned out just fine.
Then, I sat next to him in Mum's van and we rushed into the doctor's office. He was taken back to a room immediately, even before my Aunt had filled out the paperwork, and my mother had finished in the restroom. I held his hand as we walked down the hallway. The nurse asked me for details and I explained while she wiped his hand off. Ian was brave. He barely cried after he was sat on the examining table. While we waited for the doctor, I took a paper towel and rinsed off his legs and feet. They had been used as a canvas for his bloody finger's sacrificial artwork. The nurse came back with a measuring tape and estimated that the gash was about an inch and a half long. The Doctor arrived in moments and gave Ian his first five stitches.
I didn't find out until later that my Aunt was a sobbing basket case herself. Mum told me she could barely understand my Aunt Renee on the telephone, all she could make out was "Ian needs stitches" and hurried all the way down Euclid and Patterson like a bat outta hell. Thank goodness she hadn't left for Saginaw, originally she meant to go thrifting after dropping me off that morning. The experience was a positive one. I don't usually get to be a hero, especially not to Ian. I've always told my mother I don't have maternal instincts, this experience has shown otherwise.