Lessons from Liquid Bandage
HOW A TRIP TO THE ER WAS EVERYTHING I NEEDED…
It was a Friday night, and I had just pulled two frozen pizzas out of the oven (not ashamed to admit... but not my preferred choice as a "from scratch" person) and was grateful to have discovered them, as our fridge was near empty anticipating a Saturday morning grocery run.
I stepped into the bathroom to freshen up before eating (a modern Mom's small luxury move). As I shut the door, I spoke loudly to my kids: “Please calm down with the cardboard box—there are lots of sharp corners in this part of the house.” Seconds later, I heard that particular kind of scream—sharp, urgent, the kind only a mother knows. My son had hit his head on the wall’s corner, and it was immediately clear this wasn’t a Band-Aid situation. Without hesitating, I scooped him up and headed to our dependable urgent care—pizza still warm on the counter, my toddler screaming for me from my husband’s arms, the whole car seat thing... We arrived with 20 minutes to spare... but I noticed the lights were off. Closed.
Mild panic started to set in, but in that moment I recalled the last time I brought this same son to this urgent care, the doctor told me to keep a particular liquid bandage on hand—which of course I didn't do. So, I took my son into the grocery store that was next door. Found some variation of a liquid bandage—and, not joking, even had the confidence that this was going to work so well that I also grabbed the fresh raspberries for a cake I was planning to make in the morning. I was convinced we'd be okay with this miracle liquid Band-Aid!
Back in the car, I immediately applied the purple nail polish–looking liquid to his head and instantly knew—it wasn’t going to cut it. Panic increased. I called my husband (no answer) to clarity-check my next move, then realized the only answer was the hospital. But doubt kept getting stronger, so I called our pediatrician’s after-hours line... then found myself pulled off on the side of the road, talking to the on-call pediatrician while uploading photos to MyChart for advice. Needless to say, we still needed the ER.
By the time we arrived, my son was totally fine—smiling, curious, calm. I was, on the other hand, holding myself together with what felt like the shitty liquid bandage I had bought just 20 minutes ago. But then something shifted... I realized they had an entirely separate children's area that felt like literally sunshine because of the color of the walls, and a selection of free books. Once we arrived to a bed in the hallway, my son was totally fine, chill, and excited to look around the room and ask lots of questions... Me, on the other hand—the liquid bandage around my composure was disintegrating. Sitting there had given me the opportunity to clearly see that I was feeling the entire weight of all of the challenging things I'm experiencing as an adult. The finance worries, business, leaky roof from all of the rain, all of this rain from... climate change?, politics, aging parents, childhood trauma from emergency experiences of my own... and I had not gotten nearly enough protein nor hydration for the day (like I'm told will help me lose weight and ensure a longer life). The failed liquid bandage I tried to apply to my son was exactly what I was using to feel like my life was being held together.
And then I saw it—I think it was a Bluey sticker on the wall: “It’s okay to be scared. This is a new experience.”
It was as if something had impaled my core with the antidote that I needed. Permission to feel scared.
Scared was a feeling I had swept so far under the rug, I had nearly forgotten it was there. But that sticker brought it right to the surface and clarified so much of the stress I’ve been carrying. It was meant to reassure children in a scary moment, but it spoke directly to me. Scared—a feeling that rises when something disrupts your best-laid plans, when uncertainty takes over. I usually hold my head high and push through a challenge, but that sticker changed my mind. Because the challenges I’ve been facing can’t be held together with a liquid bandage. They need proper recognition in order to be “healed”.
It's okay to be scared.
I realized that all of the effort it was taking to not be scared—because of the several things swirling around in my life at the moment—was making the very present situation so much more difficult. I’m good in emergencies, but I realized all of the compounding stresses (read: not having a full cup all of the time) had dampened my ability to stay strong in an emergency situation.
My son was totally fine within minutes of his accident—he just needed a medical professional to help stitch him back up (or use actual DermaBond, not the OTC stuff). That little sticker was just the message I needed to hear, and the timing couldn't have been better. It's okay to feel scared. I softened after I read that and stayed present with my son for the few hours we were there (and thank goodness for those fresh raspberries in my tote because we had a snack!), before heading home and reheating the most delicious piece of frozen pizza I needed.
We are often sneaky with how we deal with emotions—when something confronts us, we can so easily avoid it—subconsciously even... So next time you're able to catch yourself when an unfavorable feeling comes up, offer yourself the encouragement:
"It's okay to feel scared."
The message I didn’t know I needed. I’d been trying so hard to power through everything that I forgot: scared is a valid feeling. And sometimes, we need that validation to move forward stronger.
Love,
Hannah
