An injury came into the office last week and it was fairly gruesome. Nothing that required extreme first aid measures. In fact, very little can be done for a nail slammed in a door other than to enjoy the color changes and lay odds on whether that nail survives the slam, or falls off.
What was interesting about this particular trauma was the young person in possession of the purpled finger tip. She was unflapped. She appeared in the office, like so many others, declaring a wound.
All injuries, that are not serious, start with a story. Usually told by the escort rather than the actual sufferer. The wounded inevitably bring an entourage which includes a spokesperson and several hype men. It’s important to thank the team of helpers and try to get the voice of the actual injured to rise to the top so that you can be closer to the actual incident as the story begins. What happened?!
“Well….I was born on a Tuesday so...”
“So, recess started at noon and 45 minutes later….”
“Ok...in 2nd grade we invented a game….”
Once the back, back, back story is firmly established and we finally get to the needs involved in the minor injury, treatment ensues. Ice packs and bandaids are amazingly effective for all sorts of infractions. Placebos work.
The casual nature of this young woman’s arrival had me prepared to pull an ice pack, maybe unwrap a band aid and settle in for a tale of woe. When I laid eyes on her finger, I gasped. It was fairly gross. Very purple and seeping blood. She would have been well within reason to be crying or even wailing a bit. It had to hurt. I could almost see her finger throbbing.
After a few careful and subtle palpations, it seemed safe to say it was merely a nail injury, but no question it had to be painful. I was amazed at this kids stoicism. But, now and then we come across a tough customer. A kid who handles pain with great endurance.
I thought I’d ring the parents and see if some Motrin was possible as this finger was not going to stop hurting for a while. Here’s where this gets interesting. When I spoke to the parent and commented on the bravery, the parent seemed stunned. We had a brief moment clearing up the confusion. Was I joking about her demeanor? Are you saying she isn’t normally this brave?
Turns out, according to a parental authority, this kid is a crier. Someone who commonly weathers injuries with a lot of drama and enthusiasm for tears. Hmm?
It got me to thinking about how we all perform differently in different areas of life. Depending on who we are talking to or what environment we are in, we adapt our sensibilities. Kids are no exception. In fact, they are learning who they are with every opportunity. At home, she cries. At school, she weathers the worst. It’s important to know that we are capable of each approach.
Crying or not crying isn’t really the interesting part of this tale. Rather, knowing that these walking experiments are ever evolving. And, as parents, anytime we think we have these kids figured out, they may be a door slam away from their next development.