It was the day we picked up our new van. Having already been out that day, Max was not interested in going to soccer, but here i was, trying to herd him out the door.
Max was not having any. He SLAMMED our rickety back door.
And its window rained down on his hand.
i'm not sure how he processes pain. When i did a similar thing 20 odd years before, it seems that glass in the back of my hand didn't hurt like i would've expected. Maybe the back of the hand isn't as sensitive as i might think.
But Max became suddenly calm. No soccer, but THIS was better. A ride in an ambulance! And hanging out all evening in the emergency room! (Boom, did we bring you too?)
It was nearly 10pm before the staff could not only deal with him (busy, busy - Max spent a couple of hours in the hallway by the nurse's station), but get the anesthetic to take effect. i would've been losing it, at the thought of having my hand stitched, but Max found the process fascinating. Another photo shows him watching intently as the stitches are put in.
When they finally released us, the staff warned Max to not remove the stitches, or else he'd have to have them put in again.
Actually, i think that's the whole reason he DID remove them the next morning. But the medical team decided to not replace the stitches - something about where they were, new stitches at that point wouldn't heal well.
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