It was 2 a.m. when I realized that my oldest son was standing over my bed. I woke up with a jolt as my mind pieced together the words that were coming out of his mouth. I heard, “fell out of bed.”
I snapped the covers back and ran past him, assuming that he heard our three-year-old crying because he had fallen out of bed.
I stopped at the doorway as my husband asked me, “Where are you going? HE fell out of his bed.”
“Oh.” I rubbed my eyes as I turned around.
I went to my son and placed my hands under his chin. “Are you okay?”
I could barely get those three words out before realizing that my left hand felt wet, almost tacky. In the dim light from the moon I saw a shadow on my son’s cheek.
My husband clicked on a small table lamps and I gasped as I realized that there was blood running down his face.
He was groggy and stumbling a bit. I couldn’t tell if that was from being sleepy or an injury to his head.
We moved him to the bathroom to clean up his face and get the details of what had happened. The blood was coming from a gash high on his cheek where his face had hit the corner of his nightstand as he rolled off the bed.
His heart was beating rapidly. I put a towel between his head and the counter and told him to relax. I rubbed his hand and tried to get him to slow down his breathing as my husband cleaned off his face.
The blood just kept coming. I was beginning to feel a bit nauseous. I watched the blood continue to trickle down his cheek and I could feel the blood draining from my own face.
I looked down at my hand. It felt stiff where his blood was starting to dry. I experienced another wave of nausea and my knees began to buckle.
I began to see black spots and I knew that I had to lie down. I was close to passing out.
I could barely make it from the bathroom tile to the soft carpeting of our bedroom before I fell to my knees, collapsing on the ground.
This is what always happens to me when I see blood.
Thank goodness my husband was there. I felt like a failure.
My son needed my help and I couldn’t control how my body was reacting to the situation. This isn’t the first time this has happened.
I tried to scold myself. I tried to stand up.
Each time I had to lie back down. The black spots wouldn’t go away and my legs were too wobbly to hold me.
After a few minutes, both my son and my husband asked if I was okay. It was embarrassing, no other word for it.
I wish that I could find a way to overcome this.
Edited by Jody Smith