A stitch in time

I have a nice morning routine with Eve. Usually I tend to wake up when Eve does (there is something genetically programmed into Daddies that mean they just don't hear the morning wake up call - I've checked with friends), then we spend up to half an hour just the two of us. Sometimes I jump into her bed and we chat and play, sometimes we get up and read books, sometimes we just cuddle on the sofa. It is precious time.

Last Wednesday was one such morning. My toenails were in need of repair pending a possible outing this weekend so Eve ran to the kitchen to get my nail varnish from the fridge while I got remover in the bathroom. As she galloped back to me, she fell over, head first, into the door frame.

My general principle is that if Eve can wiggle whatever hurts and there is no blood then it gets ignored after a quick kiss from Mummy. Except this time there was blood, an awful lot of blood, coming from her face. And a lot of crying.

Quick as a flash the Boy was up, we all got dressed and were in the car to the hospital. I am not one to overreact but when it's a head wound and you can see the flesh below the flesh, a formal opinion may be needed. Luckily we live 5 minutes drive from HK's best teaching hospital. A public hospital nonetheless.

I cannot praise the HK public health system enough. We rarely use it, having health insurance from both our companies, but I think I will most likely use it again. Eve was seen immediately by the triage nurse, a doctor within an hour, an x ray immediately thereafter, and stitched a short while later. 4 stitches. Everyone spoke perfect English, not easy even for native speakers when dealing with medical terms and distraught parents. And we got all this for the princely sum of 100 Hong Kong dollars. Hong Kong Health Authority, I am your new biggest fan.

That said, I don't want to repeat the experience. There is something heart wrenching about a scared child or one in pain. The look in her eyes as she had her xrays taken and asked "what is that noise Mummy, will it hurt me?" (no, was my reply, it's just like Daddy's camera and takes a photo of your skeleton). Then having to hold her hands down while the nurse stitched her face up, all the while as she cried "no more Mummy, make it stop Daddy". I was almost in tears at this one.

Eve, of course, being a little trooper was fine about 10 seconds after her stitches were in and is wearing them like a badge of honour. She is showing no signs of slowing down or taking any fewer risks. I have resigned myself to the fact my daughter will never be a super model and all is back to normal.