Bloody Nora
I have never been afraid of blood – my own or others'. I even thought I’d make a good paramedic because blood never fazed me, no matter how much. But today, I learned that when it comes to your own kids, what you thought you knew about yourself may not really apply.
My 1-year-old was playing happily in our community playground this afternoon with one of the tot lot regulars, Hannah, while I was chatting with her mom, Hiroko. Then I saw Milo trip before the steps going up to the jungle gym, which was no big deal because he usually doesn’t hurt himself during his clumsy moments. Then I heard him cry.
I calmly walked to him to pick him up, and then calm turned to terror. I saw a lot of blood in his mouth, all over his shirt and his hands. I tried not to sound afraid, knowing it will scare him even more.
So I quickly picked him up, tried to calm him down, ran to get his burp cloth and wiped the blood off his mouth. My first thought was to make the bleeding stop, but I couldn’t see where it was coming from – did he bust his inner lip? Did he lose a tooth? Was he bleeding from his throat somehow?
Thankfully, Hiroko lived across from the tot lot, so we went up to her house and gave Milo ice water with crushed ice, which he willingly took. When his mouth was almost clear of blood, I saw the cut: right behind his front teeth. It turns out his chin hit the first step, cutting his upper gums with his lower teeth.
Hiroko said she was impressed at my composure, that I was very calm in handling the situation, soothing Milo with an unshaken voice. She was surprised when I told her my knees were shaking climbing up the stairs to her house, and that I was thinking if I should call 911, and that my heart was still pounding out of my chest even as we were about to go home.
Good thing my calm façade worked with Milo, because he did stop crying shortly after the incident.
Fifteen minutes later, he was feeling better enough to want to play outside again. Five hours later, I am still traumatized, finding it quite difficult to shake off the sight of my son’s bloody mouth at the playground, his blood-stained shirt and pants, my blood stained shirt, and all the blood I tried to wash off his burp cloth.
Now, I write this while having ice cream, trying to make myself feel better. I should already relax now that my baby is sleeping peacefully after a long day. I should feel comforted with the thought that it was nothing serious, and bad falls happen to every kid in the world. But the trauma just won’t leave me.
One thing’s for sure: I’m not afraid of blood, probably never will be, as long as it’s not coming from my kid.
Labels: horror, milo, us life
Sadista
Listening to Chico and Delamar (yes, I do listen to them as often as Windows Media Player allows me too, so batiin nyo ko!) on Halloween day (Philippine time) made me regret my decision to tune in.
I wanted to listen to some other station, but I needed their familiar voice to make me feel like I had company even if I was home alone with my baby. But the scary entries that made it into their top 10 “Things to Say to Someone Who’s Gone,” combined with the dark that was slowly creeping into the west coast, seriously made my imagination run crazy.
Still, I couldn’t turn them off. The way Chico and Del scared themselves reminded me of hilarious days with my friends and family and how we scared ourselves out of our pants for fun, too.
I remember those times when my cousins and I would share scary stories during sleepovers at our lola’s house, or in Tagaytay where we would spend New Year’s Eve. Then we’d attempt to go down a particularly creepy, dark road by their house, having only glow sticks (like they helped at all). We’d all scare each other and scream and cry from laughing because we were so ridiculously scared.
Just like countless nights in Raz’s condo with my college orgmates, telling stories that made us scream and hide under a big blanket and make sure there was a living, breathing body next to each of us.
Or that time when we went down that dark isolated road outside Raz’s house one night in Caliraya. We were in our pajamas and decided to walk arm in arm in the dark, but because nobody wanted to end up on either side or be left at the back, we ended up walking, or rather, moving in a chaotic, weird kind of stampede where you don’t really know where your feet are anymore, yet you are swept with the crowd.
Back then, I could say, relatively, matapang ako. Scaring each other is fun, until you’re left alone and the scary images stay in your mind – but even that I didn’t mind. I’m ok alone even after a scare session.
Until two movies happened: Sixth Sense and Ringu. I blame Nonie and my elearning pals. And my friends in filgifts. And myself, because I couldn’t stand being left out of the fun of scaring ourselves.
I saw both Sixth Sense and Ring 1 in the movies, then the pre-quel and the rest of the sequels on VCD with my filgifts friends. And then I remember one night of non-stop takutan with my college "group 2" friends over dinner and coffee. They drove me home at 3AM, but I seriously couldn’t get out of the car to go inside my dark, creepily quiet house.
It was then that I realized, my takot wall has broken down. I would imagine many different sixth-sense beings and would have flashes of Sadako and her arthritis-inflicted hands in my mind as I brushed my hair in the mirror. And it really affected me. It took me over a month to recover.
Since then, horror movies were banished from my movies-to-watch list (if I can help it), and I swear I haven’t seen any of the new Asian horror films since I moved here in the US where there is no maid to keep me company when nobody else is home.
I do miss those moments of scary fun, but until I have a maid or someone who will be a mainstay here at home, I’m keeping away from anything creepy. But what if there WAS some mainstayer here at my house na di ko lang nakikita…?
Patay. Takutin na naman ba ang sarili.
Happy thoughts, Mel. Happy thoughts…
Labels: halloween, horror, us life
