I have been squeamish all of my life, especially around blood. Particularly my own. That’s not to say I was thrilled about others’, either. Despite working in hospitals for years, I cringed at the sight of it. Donating blood – even the quickest poke for a simple blood test – was always a disaster. I was the girl who needed to lay down, hold the phlebotomist’s hand and do dramatic deep breathing in my nose out my mouth before, during and about fifteen minutes after the needle came out to prevent passing out. It was never a pretty sight.
Then I got pregnant. You can just imagine what the blood work early on during my pregnancy was like. I went on to have an emergency c-section. I cried hysterically when they put in my IV during delivery. I’m talking big heaving sobs like a little girl here, people. Then, baby #2 and c-section #2. I did a bit better but there were still big ‘ole sobs during IV time while I was in labor.
Needless to say I’m still not thrilled about blood. But, something happens when you become a mother. It’s like a switch flips and suddenly the things you were squeamish about before melt away when an emergency situation arises and you’re faced with your very fear. I remember one particular time when my son, now 3 ½ but then just shy of 1, fell directly onto his face while running. Time seemed to stop as I saw him silent on the floor, not moving immediately after the fall. I ran to him and took a deep breath unsure of what I would find once I scooped him up. His nose was swollen and, boy, was he bleeding. It was as if his nose was a hose that had been turned completely to “spray.” The old Liz would have passed out on sight. The mother in me, however, did exactly what I needed to do: I remained calm, told him he was alright, and raced to gather towels to apply pressure and ice packs. The blood stopped after a few minutes and my son went back to playing and I gave him a high-five for being such a “big boy” during the fall. I was relieved he was alright. I also remember being so proud of myself that (1) I remained conscious throughout the entire event and (2) I did a good job keeping my fear from my son so as not to instill the same fear in him.
Almost four years have passed since I became a mom. And if I had a penny for every instance where I had to tend to blood, vomit, and other bodily fluids I’d be well on my way to overflowing a piggy bank. I know you parents out there know what I’m talking about. I think it’s important that we recognize that as parents we are only human and we are not perfect. But, when we overcome a fear of our own in an effort to be the best parent we can be to our children we deserve a high-five.
So, high-five out there to all of you!
Sincerely, From the Stork’s Nest~
Liz
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