*****WARNING: This post shares some very graphic photos. If you tend to faint at the site of blood, you may not want to read this post.*****
My kids have been fairly lucky in the injury department over the years. Besides a terrible auto accident, and all of the horrible injuries entailed, the most they've ever experienced was a few stitches, bumps and bruises.
They've probably remained unscathed because my kids aren't dare devils and don't partake of many high risk or dangerous activities.
Sure, they ride their bikes, ocassionally ride a horse, play sports, jump on a trampoline, and climb trees.
All are pretty typical for most 11 year old kids, though, don't you think?
Jax loves to climb trees. He could probably live in a tree, if you let him. He dreams and wishes hard for his very own treehouse one day.
On the other side of the coin, his twin brother Jem is not a tree climber. Jem tends to read and play guitar more than anything. But he does like to hang out with his twin brother and have fun, too.
So the other evening Jem joined Jax climbing trees up in the woolies' paddock.
As always I warned them to be careful and tried not to be over-protective. I tried to avert my eyes and do the "shut my eyes, plug my ears, and go "lalalalalalala...I can't hear/see you!" as my friend Melanie tries to do with her own kids when they insist on doing things that scare the willies right out of any loving Mama.
I have to admit I felt more worried than usual seeing my more 'delicate' son way up in the tree. I wanted him down....NOW!
But I walked to the bottom of the hill after feeding the animals at the barn, and just when I got past the lower gate, I heard a scream. And not just any scream. A scream that all Mamas know and dread. A scream that says something is terribly wrong. A scream that makes our hearts race and our tummies fall into our feet. A scream that makes the hair rise on the back of our necks and causes us to have the 'fight or flight' syndrome.
I turned on a dime and ran up there to find Jem stumbling and whimpering towards me, telling me that he felt like he was going to throw up.
He was guarding his right chest, so that was the first place I looked. And what I saw horrified me!
There was tissue and fat sticking out of his wound, and it was right below his nipple, which was hanging there only by a flap. It was sickening to see and required a trip to the emergency room STAT!
Prepare for the graphic photo:
My poor baby boy. I felt so terrible for him. But he was so brave. Braver than I would be. Jem also ended up with a few other scrapes and small cuts. Ranchman John and his truckdriver friend, Clark, who was visiting, took Jem to the hospital. I stayed home with Jax and Jen, and was so grateful that Ranchman John was there to be by Jem's side. He is so much tougher than I am. I faint at the sight of my children's blood now. I feel weak if they sustain any trauma.
It has not always been this way, though. I used to be a CNA (nurse) for several years when I got out of high school. I was never queasy or weakhearted. I could handle anything that came my way.
But then 3 years ago my twin sons and husband almost died when they were hit from behind by a vehicle and rammed into the path of an 18 wheeler head-on.
There were a lot of terrible injuries and trauma. And I think it affected me right down to my core being, my deepest part of my soul. And though I am amazingly blessed that my sons and husband are still alive, I've never been the same since.
But this post is not about me. This is about my poor baby who survived falling out of a juniper tree. He bragged that he didn't even cry throughout the entire hospital ordeal. Jem had to deal with multiple needles to numb the area as well as SEVENTEEN stitches! Ouch!
Jem almost lost his nipple, and the nurse told me that it's better that this happened to my son rather than my daughter, because for a female there could have been issues involving breastfeeding, sensitivity and nerve damage.
Jem may still end up with some nerve damage and lack of feeling, but for now he's just sore and not able to do much for at least 10 days. Thank goodness he's my quieter, less active son.
Here's a photo I took of the stitched up wound after I cleaned it up tonight:
So as you can see it's been a rather stressful and emotional couple days around here. I'm not much of a drinker, but I wouldn't mind a strong margarita right about now.
Anyone want to join me?
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