I have been through natural childbirth three times. Twice at home, and once in the hospital. No drugs, just a whole bunch of teeth gritting and strong language. I have seen plenty of blood in my lifetime, and survived my son having reconstructive surgery at four years old, and being responsible for cleaning and caring for the surgery site.
I myself have suffered some fairly grievous wounds, not the least of which was falling on a split branch and having a goodly portion of it jammed under the skin of my right forearm, or there was the time that I was slammed in the face with a tether ball pole and had my nose smashed flat as a pancake. I bled for two days and ended up looking alarmingly like a raccoon for six weeks.
I smashed my right index finger in the sliding door of the van, and if that wasn't bad enough, the van was locked and my husband was inside Sam's with the keys in his pocket. I had to fish my cell phone out of my 'right' back pocket with my left hand, call him on his cell phone so that he could come unlock the door and let me out. The finger tip was flat for days.
I have seen a corpse, up close and personal, and have heard the death rattle. I held a beloved pet in my arms as it drew it's last breath after being mangled by a car, and have dealt with broken bones, cuts, road rash and assorted other scrapes and boo boo's.
Why is it then that when my oldest girl cut the palm of her hand with a knife the other night I took one look at the wound and almost fainted?
How can that be right? I have gone over and over this in my mind trying to make sense of it. I was asleep, and she came into my room very calmly and said, mom, I cut myself.
"Is it bad?" I asked, tossing back the covers.
"Not really, it's just a little hole, but it's bleeding a lot."
This child doesn't dramatize. If she said it was bleeding a lot then it probably was, so I steeled myself and followed her back to the kitchen. She removed the washcloth that she had been holding over the wound. I took one look and the room started spinning. I could feel the blood pounding in my head and when I spoke to her I sounded in my own ears, like I was miles away. My scalp was tingling and I was sick to my stomach.
"Honey, not to scare you, but I think I'm gonna pass out." That's all I could say while I concentrated on breathing and not ending up on the floor.
As any good daughter will do, she decided she should pass out too, so there we were leaning against each other at the sink watching her life force dripping down the drain, moaning, both of us basically useless.
With all the strength I could muster I called to my husband so that he could come and help. Once he saw the cut he just kind of looked at me with this blank expression. I knew what he was thinking. The same thing I was. This was stupid. I was stronger than this. I am really afraid of what the future holds. Is this a new trend? Am I now a wimp? What happens if there's a real emergency and I faint?
It is possible, I guess, that it was because I was abruptly awakened to the sight of blood and didn't have a chance to prepare. Or perhaps when one grows older they become more sensitive to this type of thing, but, what happens if one of the kids or my husband gets seriously hurt and I have to apply pressure to a wound to keep them alive and I faint? This reaction to the sight of blood does not bode well for farm life. I know it’s only a matter of time before I will, unfortunately, be tested again.
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