Chin Music Press - Adventures in Publishing - The most painful cut of all

The most painful cut of all

Do You Know, the book | Life in the US

I was just 90 minutes into what was promising to be a daylong editing and proofing session this morning when I heard from the living room the pitter pat of little feet across the floor and then wham, thud ... and my son begins to wail.

Kenzo had cut his forehead deeply on a wooden chair — a Kenyon College chair — and blood was gushing everywhere. I picked him up into my arms and ran through the kitchen and into the bathroom, leaving a trail of blood and yelling "Omigod, omigod, omigod." (Medical school was never even a thought for me; I hate the sight of blood). We went into the bathroom, and I could see that the cut was deep. Blood kept spilling out, and he was crying like a baby (a good sign, all things considered). I put him down on the bench by the front door with a washcloth on his head and called Yuko, who was at her yoga class. The ring seemed to echo, then I realized her cellphone was in the basement.

Next I ran outside with Kenzo to find our neighbor. She was at work. I ran back and called 911. Blood was still dripping despite me applying light pressure to the wound. I asked where the nearest emergency room was (I knew where it was, but for some reason I really needed to talk to another adult right then). The operator probably picked up on the fact that Dad was freaking out a little bit and said as calmly as she could, "Why don't we send someone over to help you out?"

OK, great. We waited. My daughter Kate, home sick from school, suddenly got off the couch and was ready to help. She realized there was someone lower on the needs pyramid than her at that moment and she responded beautifully, especially considering she was moaning and groaning through a fever last night (who said parenting was boring?).

Five minutes later a fire truck arrived in front of our house, and three fireman came to the door. Kate was loving every minute of this, and even Kenzo started to perk up. These three guys came in, cleaned up Kenzo's head, took a good look and then one of them went to apply a Band-Aid, which set off Kenzo into one of his champion cries: "No, no, no, no, I want Daddy!"

The firemen were nonplussed. This was probably the equivalent of a coffee break for them. One fireman said, "OK, how about if I put a Band-Aid on too?" And he put a Band-Aid on his forehead. Then a second fireman put a Band-Aid on his hat. Then Kate put a Band-Aid on her arm. This is good stuff, Kenzo seemed to be thinking, and he quietly let the first fireman put a Band-Aid over his cut.

The firemen looked like they could have come off the set of Rescue Me (the fellow in charge asked me my son's name. "Kenzo," I replied. Blank look, then, "OK what's his first name?"), yet their bedside manner with Kenzo was as kind and warm as Mr. Rogers. Better even, since Mr. Rogers can be somewhat unsettling for some. These guys were good. They calmly told me to get to a doctor to get him stitched up.

To cut to the chase, we ended up in an emergency room and Kenzo was given a sedative. This is when I learned my son would grow up to be an ugly drunk. I'm a fun drunk for the most part, but there are some ugly drunks in our family. Kenzo seemed to have gotten their genes, because the sedative quieted him for a while, but then he turned surly. He was sticking his tongue out at the doctors and giving them the raspberry as we all held him down. But finally three doctors and an elderly fellow named Ray (who said, "I'm glad I'm hard of hearing" when Kenzo really started to kick up a storm) held my boy long enough to get the gash on his forehead stitched up. Five stitches. And probably a scar. The whole thing, from thud to finish, took five hours.

The doctors told me to go home and have a glass of chardonnay. I don't think so. No, tonight it's the whole bottle. Do You Know will have to wait until tomorrow.

Bruce Rutledge >> November 16, 2005

Comments

Wow, good to hear Kenzo turned out OK. And you too. ;-)

Scars on foreheads are good. If Kenzo's lucky, he'll be at a Mexican restaurant in Philadelphia someday, drinking big fat margaritas when a flamboyantly gay man will come up to him and say, "That scar is so becoming." And then he'll point out that it isn't a scar actually, because the guy will be referring to a line under Kenzo's eye because he hasn't slept in 3 days because of his computer science finals. Then the gay guy will look around awkwardly and say, "Well, it's still nice."

Craig Mod at November 16, 2005 08:04 PM

Good grief Bruce! You've had pretty much every parent's nightmare there! At least kids are resilient, they handle this sort of thing way better than the parents most of the time. All that blood though - like a cup of Chardonnay is going to help after that!

As for the scar - my husband has a whopper up the neck from surgery. I always tell him to tell people it is from a knife fight - it's sexier that way. I'm sure Kenzo will come up with a very flattering story for his scar by the time he is 20!

Colleen at November 16, 2005 09:16 PM

Thanks guys. Kenzo's now fast asleep. I'm thinking of switching from Chardonnay to Scotch.

Bruce Rutledge at November 16, 2005 10:03 PM

Has the positive, healing energy I sent your way from Japan arrived yet? If not, drink the remaining two beers in the case of Schlitz you bought this afternoon and wait; the good vibes will be there soon.

David at November 16, 2005 10:45 PM

If Kenzo is half as tough as his dad was as a kid, he'll be just fine. And I can always count on Kate to bring a certain charm to any event at the Rutledge household. Now if we can just get daddy's aversion to blood and needles under control. . .

Steve Quinn at November 17, 2005 10:24 AM