Well, it had to happen one day, didn’t it?

So far, we’d gone through the last 22 months without any major injuries and I am very grateful for it. Until today, our only emergency visit at a hospital with the little one was during our second night home (she was five days old) when she cried for eight solid hours and we didn’t know what else to do (for the record: she fell asleep during the cab ride at 4 am and I arrived at the hospital stating “my baby just wont stop crying” while holding a peacefully sleeping newborn…).

Today she was jumping around on a big mattress after our singing class when she slipped and fell right onto some kind of thin steel stut. It took a second, but then the whole situation got quite bloody and I knew that she’ll need stitches (this was, by the way, one of the rare moments when I really regret neither having a car nor a smart phone! Both of them would have been quite handy, but I was lucky enough that our music teacher offered to drive us to the nearest hospital).

So, we went to the nearest hospital with a bleeding and crying little one. We arrived at the emergency unit where we were told that, unfortunately, they can’t help us because we’ll need a pediatrician. So we went back to the car and went to the city where we were told about an emergency unit for children (note: even the teaching hospital where the little one was born apparently can’t help in such a case). We arrived at the second emergency unit where the nurse took a look at the little one, tried to clean the wound a bit (a three centimeter long cut right down her forehead which gaped open) – without major success. I was told that the doctor will be there soon, so I sat down with the little one and started to browse through books while occasionally whipping of the blood that was running down her face….

After about 45 minutes the doctor arrived. He tried to clean the wound (without major success) and tried to take a picture which took several minutes because the little one was crying and trying to get off my lap (I really didn’t see the point of the picture, I just hoped they’d start the stitches soon). The doctor left in order to talk to his colleague and came back 15 minutes later, telling me that the little one indeed needs stitches. They would try to do it, but they only have laughing gas there – so in case it doesn’t work we would have to drive to the children’s clinic. Mh. Alright. Let’s try the laughing gas.

Fine, the doctor said, we’ll start in about 45 minutes. (note: it was already way after lunch time, the little one was hungry but wasn’t allowed to eat and I hadn’t eaten since breakfast either). I asked for some chocolate because I was feeling slightly hypoglycemic, but apparently they didn’t have any.

After a while, another nurse came and explained the laughing gas. She had three different pens which smelled like chocolate, vanilla or strawberry and she “painted” the mask with the strawberry smell which the little one seemed to like most. And now the only fun part of the day started: the nurse warned me that most of the children cry a lot at the beginning, but the little one was absolutely keen on getting the laughing gas mask. After a few deep breaths, she started to smile and to giggle and to fool around – really quite fascinating. I was sitting next to her, holding the mask, while the doctor was trying to stitch, and my girl was just really foolish (“hahaha…au au, mama, au au…hahaha!!). At one point, I tried to distract her with a colourful caterpillar made out of wobbly, soft plastic and she started giggling, pointed at the caterpillar and laughed “PAPA!!!”. (Is this how it’ll be when she’ll come home one day after having her first drinks??) Well, there was also the point when she tried to grab a toy and the mask got detached from the laughing gas. The doctor stopped working, the nurse tried to get the gas back on and I stared at the little one because the doctor had left the needle sticking right out of her forehead…

All in all, she was extremely brave! She even got chocolate afterwards (turns out they had chocolate after all!). And is now wearing a blue bandage around her head.

The only moment where I lost my temper was actually on our way home. When we entered the train, the little one was tired, hungry and in pain (and obviously having blood in her face) and started crying a bit. Which caused a guy to lean over to say in a very disapproving voice “Well, well, are you one recalcitrant child!”. Which caused me to loudly state the facts of the last hours. Which luckily caused him to shut up (seriously, what’s wrong with the people??).

So, well, that’s our first laceration. Let’s hope the little one will be as accident-free as I was as a child (and not such a regular emergency unit visitor as her father…).