It’s the day before my oldest son Thomas starts Pre-K and all of my concerns are wrapped around making his first day of school the smoothest possible. I spent endless hours thinking of everything I needed to do the next morning. I decided that with tomorrow being his first day of school I needed to label all of his supplies for school like his teacher asked the parents to. I got through all the supplies in nearly and hour- and-a-half an was glad to be coming to an end of the supplies. (Talk about hand cramps.) All I had left was to label the scissors.
Now to give to an idea since it is only Pre-K: The school asks for safety scissors, which are just like regular scissors, except they have rounded edges instead of pointed tips. I labeled his name on them and was done, thank goodness. I put them in the bag of supplies and was starting to walk away and heard the bag moving, I looked at my younger son, who at this point has the scissors in his hands, putting them in this mouth. I tried to keep my voice low so I didn’t scare him and said, “David, put the scissors down,” but before I could even get the words out of my mouth, clip, he closed them on his tongue. I stood there dumbfounded not even knowing what to do or say. I watched him very calmly put them back in the package and bag and start to walk away. I stopped him, of course, and said, “Let me see your tongue.” I nearly passed out when I saw the blood just pouring out of his mouth and the now straight slice he had running up the middle of his tongue. I felt guilty and petrified all in the same instant. I didn’t know what to do, he wasn’t even crying, I’m not sure he even knew he did it, if it wasn’t for the blood now pouring down his shirt. I immediatly ran to wake up my mom. She got up and looked at it and knew that it wasn’t good but not terribly bad, either, as far as mouth wounds go. The bleeding that just wouldn’t stop was the main concern. I am trying not to be sick at this point, which isn’t at all like me. I am a champ when it comes to not freaking out when my kids get hurt (and with boys living in the country, that’s a lot). However, being pregnant I could smell it and see it and was on the last verge of losing my dinner, lunch, and whatever else that still managed to be in my stomach. I got him back into the living room to sit him down and his daddy just kept saying over and over., “He needs to go to the hospital, it’s really bad.” So I had to yell at him to “GET OUTSIDE, you’re not staying calm, and you’re going to upset him, and the last thing he needs right now is to get upset.”
I spent the next what felt like hours (actually 20 minutes, give or take) trying to get the bleeding to stop. My son didn’t even realize that there was anything truly wrong. I had him eating ice chips as another resort to get the bleeding to stop and swelling to stay down. David looks at me and says, “Mommy, I’m eating ice chips” when the S came out he squirted blood on my face, shirt and arms. All I could think was please don’t let him notice you are going to puke everywhere. He laughs and says he got red spinkles on me. I was like, yeah, you sure did buddy. Gag! At this point I had taken all I could and called the emergency room and they told me to absolutely bring him in. When we got there they immediately looked at his tongue. The nurse actually had the nerve to say, “Well, if they can’t stitch it, look on the bright side: Some people do that on purpose and it actually looks kind of cool.” I was ready to hit her between they eyes. Then the doctor was asking what happened and when I told him he giggled and said, “Well, he’s proven safety scissors aren’t so safe.” All I could do at this point was be glad that I had kept my cool so long with all the jokes flying around regarding my son’s tongue. Thank goodness for their sake the bleeding had stopped by this point or I would have probably lost all control with my temper. Finally we got to the room for the decision to be made regarding what to do, and all the doctor said was let it heal on it’s own, he probably could use a stitch or two, but I don’t want to deal with that fight. I could no long keep my temper. I yelled, “You have got to be kidding me. You think he needs a stitch or two and you don’t want to do it because you don’t want to handle that fight. I don’t think so. If he needs a stitch or 20 stitches I don’t care what you have to do. You had better take care of my baby.” He just looked at me and then finally, very smart on his side, explained that fighting with him would only upset him and very possibly start the bleeding again and that was the last thing that he wanted, to just let it heal on it’s own and everything should be just fine. I understood that much, and, no, I didn’t want to start the bleeding all over again. I’m not sure his blood level or my pregnant stomach could take it much more.
That’s was almost three weeks ago and now I can look back and laugh at all the jokes about my son’s tongue. It healed really nicely just like they said, and you would never know it happened. He loves to show me his tongue to let me keep an eye on it to see how it is doing, just in case. So I suppose the moral of the story is safety scissors aren’t so safe, even if you’re sitting right there with your child.