Don’t Take Your Kid’s Stitches Out Yourself

At some point in the past our oldest son smacked his head on the stairs at the playground. I can’t remember how old he was at the time – he could walk but he wasn’t in diapers, if that helps. From across the playground we heard him crying and assumed someone had smashed his sand castle, or called him a boo-boo head. Kids are always making mountains out of molehills. When he ran toward us with split in his forehead, and lots of blood, it became a legitimate mountain.

In terms of head lacerations, our oldest takes after his old man. We both had stitches three times before first grade. Mine were from:

  1. tripping into the coffee table, and catching my fall with my face,
  2. trying to open a door with my eyebrow, while running, and
  3. back-flipping into the edge of a pool rather than into the water.

Headbutting the playground stairs was our son’s second ER visit. He also caught his fall once with one of his two front teeth, which ended up getting pushed upward into his gums. It was gruesome – at first, we thought he had swallowed it. So, my oldest and I both have a history of catching ourselves without using our hands, or arms, or legs. Just our head and face.

This reminds me of an injury I saw while teaching gymnastics. I was spotting a girl as she fell from the uneven bars and braced herself with her hands and arms when she hit the mat. When falling backward, it seems natural to stop your fall with your hands, but you’re supposed to sort of tuck and roll instead. This works because there aren’t any coffee tables or doorknobs nearby. Well, she put her hands back and her elbow completely dislocated and bent in the wrong direction. It was frightening to watch. Not as bad as a tooth mashed into gums, but still pretty terrible.

Most the time, I’m one of those parents who ignores their kids when they get hurt. That, or I might ask, “do you want to go home and take a nap, or keep playing?” It seems to work. They always choose “keep playing.” I also encourage activities that are usually considered unpleasant, like canoeing in the rain and camping in the winter. It’s not so much that I want my kids to be tough and brawny. Instead, I want them to be optimistic and enjoy overcoming challenges.

I’m also one of those parents who likes to do everything himself. When a pipe bursts, I spend all day soldering and re-soldering it, while an actual plumber could fix it in about 15 minutes. When my son gets stitches, I take them out at home.

I wish that last part weren’t true.

On Christmas Eve the year after the head-stair collision, the same son was spinning on the trapeze in our family room. Yes, I put a trapeze in our family room. Where else would it go? Anyway, he lost his footing when he dismounted, sending his eyebrow into the corner of our piano. There was crying, and yelling, and pressure to stop the bleeding. Next, there’s usually a moment when you assess the damage and determine if a butterfly bandage will suffice. But, given the blood flow, we didn’t even check. I just picked him up and headed for the car.

The ER at the children’s hospital was pretty tranquil at 8PM, probably because most kids were snuggled in bed dreaming of sugarplums, not performing acrobatics. We were back home in less than an hour.

A week later, not wanting to go back to the ER to have them removed, I decided to cut the stitches out in our kitchen. The doctor said they could come out in five to seven days, so the timing was right. Plus, I had seen it done once before. How hard could it be, right? Dads have been cutting out their kid’s stitches for thousands of years.

My dentist friend gave me a pair of fancy tweezers and some piña colada anesthetic. After numbing the area, I started snipping and pulling. I was feeling pretty good about my surgical skills until the last stitch. That’s when I realized I was out of my league, that my red-neck confidence had gotten me into trouble. I’m not a red-neck, or a the kind of doctor that helps people. As soon as the final thread was cut, my son’s brow popped open like it was never closed. No blood or pain – just a gaping wound that now needed to be restitched. My training had not prepared me for this.

I wasn’t looking forward to another ER visit, putting my son through all the trauma of needles next to his eye. So, I called my doctor friend, who ended up cleaning and super-gluing the cut in his kitchen. He told me that the wound should have closed by then, and that I shouldn’t feel bad about removing the stitches myself, that he would have done the same thing. That made me feel a little better.

The moral of this story: don’t remove your kid’s stitches yourself, unless you’re a true red-neck, or the kind of doctor that helps people.

I guess there’s another lesson to be learned: trapezes, like uneven bars, should be in a gym rather than a family room.

Newton Creek, Shoshone National Forest

car campingA few days ago, my oldest and I were reminiscing about “that time we slept on top of the van.” Ah yes, I remember it well. Pretending that were trying something new, getting a better view of the stars, when in reality I just wanted get as far as possible from the hungry grizzly bears.

It was the summer of 2011, if I remember correctly, and Newton Creek, apparently home to some grizzlies, was the final stop on our road trip from California back to Minnesota. We had departed from Sacramento three days earlier in a caravan lead by my parents in their RV. The trip took us east on highway 80 through the Sierras and most of Nevada, and then up to Nat Soo Pah, an RV park near Twin Falls, Idaho, that boasts of “magical mineral water” in its spring-fed swimming pool.

As a kid, our road trips often took us through Nat Soo Pah. My dad loves a good swimmin’ hole. From all accounts, he spent most of his childhood on the banks of the American river, like a modern day Huck Fin, exploring and causing trouble. Those were the good ol’ days, when you could jump from Rainbow Bridge into Lake Natoma, a reservoir on the river, and not go to jail. Nat Soo Pah is great because it has a massive high dive. With enough bounce, it’s almost like jumping from a bridge. Also, the water is a consistent 99 degrees, so it’s like a giant, communal bathtub. The kids have fun, at least.

As far as I could tell, nothing at Nat Soo Pah had changed, from the slimy diving boards, to the mustachioed camp host, to the arcade games with their familiar theme songs and worn-out joysticks. After 20 years, we were crunching the same gravel and sitting at the same picnic tables around the same fire pits. The nostalgia was flowing like spring water from the prairie. It was nice to go back.

Shoshone riverNewton Creek was beautiful, and definitely memorable, but I don’t have any yearning to return.

I’ve never seen grizzly bear warnings, let alone campgrounds prohibiting tents because of “grizzly activity.” Leaving the east exit of Yellowstone on the North Fork Highway, we passed 2 campgrounds (Threemile and Eagle Creek) which allow only “hard side” campers and RVs. My parents had turned back at Yellowstone, and all we had was a 2-person backpacking tent, the sides of which are quite soft.

Next up on the North Fork Highway is Newton Creek, which allows tents after June. It was late July, so we were safe. I reassured my wife, who slept in the tent, at ground level, that bears use calendars.

Campsite on the Shoshone riverThe meaning of “grizzly activity” is up for interpretation. I can’t remember if there’s a sign as you pull in to the campground that attempts to depict the “activity.” I think there was a small sign, but it only made things more ambiguous. I’m going to stop joking about this now, because after returning to our hard-sided home and getting on the internet I learned that a few people have been pulled out of their tents by bears at Newton Creek and neighboring campgrounds. So, I appreciate the warning, despite the ambiguity.

At the time, I thought I was being nice by giving my wife the tent. I guess nice would have been some structure that could withstand a bear claw. After making sure she and the girls were situated, I wished them luck and my son and I climbed on top of the van and tied ourselves to the roof rack. We watched shooting stars in the clear mountain sky, confident that we were out of reach of the shorter grizzly bears. I reflected on my nighttime half-dome hike and eventually dozed off for a couple of hours.

Campfire at Newton Creek campgroundThe best part about this campout was dinner. We brought some frozen salmon that my dad had caught in California, but I had forgotten to bring suitable cookware. Rather than holding it over the fire on a stick, or frying it on a hot rock, which I’ve done, we decided that the easiest cooking method would be to foil wrap it.

We bought the foil for a ridiculous price at an outpost on the way out of Yellowstone (a new frying pan would have been cheaper). And for seasoning, we crushed some potato chips inside before wrapping it all up. Flame-broiled, Lay’s-encrusted, wild pacific salmon. Good eatin’.

Looking back, I would add some moisture to the foil wrap, even if it’s just some water. The grease from the chips doesn’t really distribute itself like it does on your hands.

Also, don’t feast on salmon before camping out in bear country. We were like foil-wrapped salmon in our sleeping bags. Good thing it wasn’t June. And good thing we smelled more like diapers and road trip than anything else.