Stitches out

For a change I'm not talking about Craftwerk or Stitch and Bitch.

My poor son had a nasty accident on Tuesday, and has 4 stitches on his forehead.

I have always been terribly phobic about stitches. A few years ago I cut my finger quite badly (incidentally this is the reason we don't eat rotisserie chicken anymore, but I digress...). I was dealing with it. I wrapped my finger in a teatowel and wondered what to do. My husband suggested I might need stitches, at which point I passed out, bashed my head on the floor and had a seizure. I woke up to a curious pizza man at the door, and some ambulance fellows with a stretcher. I was fine actually, and it has made a hell of a good story. I managed to dissuade the doctor at the hospital from stitching the finger, and all is well.

Then I had some babies. I won't elaborate too much, but suffice to say that doctors are fond of a procedure which involves cutting and stitching (and I'm not talking about Caesareans). I managed to deliver both babies and avoided this unpleasant technique.

So when Finn cut his head, and it was very obvious stitches would be necessary, I was a little nervous. And you know what? It was fine. Turns out they give you a local, use and itty-bitty needle, and skinny black thread. Honestly, I had thought it involved a darning needle and dental floss.

And today the stitches come out. I'm having a little therapy to cope with the idea (that sounds like a euphemism for booze if ever I heard one). A little self therapy in my head, along the lines of "it'll be hunky dory, you're strong, Finn is strong, you can have fish and chips for tea after". It seems to be working.