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‘Blood! Daddy, there’s blood! There’s blood!’
His eyes are wide and he is crying and screaming.
‘There’s blood!’
‘I know. I know. I’m stopping it, okay? I’m stopping it.’ I am angry at my boy for being upset. I want to slap him and tell him to shut up and let me fix it.
‘I’m taking care of it, okay? It’s okay. It’s okay.’ I’m beginning to lose my calm voice.
He’s really crying now. Loudly and choking back sobs.
‘Blood. But there’s blood.’
With my free hand, I stroke his hair and say, ‘It’s okay, it’s okay’ again and again.
In a few minutes, I carefully lift the gauze. No bleeding.
I pick up some fresh gauze, place it on the wound and tape it down. I use all six pieces and cut some more, then wrap them around the gauze.
‘Daddy …’
‘Just … please … please let me do this. Please.’ He is just a little boy. This is how he should react.
He is crying and staring at blood around him,
I remove the other needle, place fresh gauze on his arm and tape up the wound. Ten pieces of tape.
‘The good news is that you don’t have to go on the machine for the rest of the night. You get a night off.’
‘I hate this, daddy. I hate it.’ I know he does. I know.
‘So do I, mate.’
