Spurting Blood

Drawing by my talented 12-year-old nephew Gaetano

One morning Nico slipped at the Villa Glori park near our home and fell backwards, cutting his head on a small stone.  Blood came spurting out of the back of his head, turning several kleenexes bright red.  The cut was small but it was clear he would need stitches.  Gustavo set off at a sprint to get the car and I left the girls with some friends at the park.

Nico and I walked out together holding a Kleenex to the back of his head.  We were both calm.  I explained to him that he would probably need stitches but it would not hurt.  Gustavo was waiting with the car at the park gate, engine revving.  As soon as we entered the car he hit the gas, racing through the streets of Rome, charging through every red light.  In Rome you wave something white out the window of the car when you are rushing to the emergency room.

A little aside here on medical emergencies in Rome.  If you ever have a medical emergency in Rome, do not call an ambulance, they take forever to arrive, if they come at all.  If they do come, they have trouble getting through the traffic to get to the hospital.  People hesitate to move quickly aside (it doesn’t help that the parking situation in Rome is terrible and usually cars are double-parked, making it difficult for drivers to move over). Often the ambulance, sirens blaring, has to come to a complete stop.  If it manages to get through, several cars and motorcyles will try to slip in behind it to get ahead.

Once on vacation in Boston an ambulance came up behind us. At least five drivers, including me, pulled over to the emergency lane and came to a full-stop. The ambulance passed and we all sat there for a moment.  “Come on, Mamma, what are you waiting for?” asked Nico. “Why isn’t anyone moving,” said Chiara, “Are they all stupid?” said Cate.  “No, we are all decent people letting a sick or injured person get to the hospital!!” I responded, putting on my blinker and moving back into the road.  Then I muttered, “you kids have been living in Rome too long.”  And Nico — in teenage mode– answered, “well do you want us all to become fat, slow Americans.”

But back to the blood spurting incident. I sat in the back with Nico, waving a white kleenex as we raced through every red light, risking out lives.  Gutavo did manage to whip out his cell phone while he was driving to tell his parents we were headed to the hospital. Finally we squealed to a halt in front of the emergency room.

Nico and I got out while Gustavo went to park the car.  Seeing all the bloody Kleenexes, the nurses let us in right away.  A nurse carefully cleaned the cut and shaved the hair around it.  The surgeon then came in to give Nico the stitches and introduced himself to Nico, chatted briefly to Nico but not to me.  Nico was perfectly calm, so I just stood quietly off to the side.

As the surgeon stitched up Nico he commented, “I would bet anything Nico that your mamma is not Italian.” I started to laugh. Nico answered him, “Yeah, she’s American, how did you know?” “Because, Nico,” the surgeon answered, “if your mamma were Italian, you would be screaming and crying like it was the end of the world right now, and she would be standing here at the edge of the bed fussing and fretting over her little angel, not wanting to see him suffer.”

I started to giggle.  The surgeon finished sewing up Nico and looked at me as he took off his gloves and said, “Once an Italian father came in with a bleeding child and the child was so calm I said the same thing I just said to Nico.  Turns out the child’s mother was Danish.”

How people handle pain varies dramatically from one culture to another. My sister-in-law worked for years as a obstetritian-gynecologist at the hospital in Shiprock, New Mexico on the Navajo reservation.  She told me once that the Navajo women were so stoic during childbirth that sometimes it was a problem for her.  She said they would not give any signs of pain and occasionally for a doctor it is helpful to know if something really hurts.  She told me she always preferred to have a Navajo midwife present who was much more sensitive to Navajo traditions.

So what is with the Italian tradition of teaching children to make a big deal out of the smallest scratch? I do not know the answer, but I have witnessed it up-close, first-hand on many occasions.

When Caterina was four, I had to take her to get her blood tested.  We got to the medical center early in the morning and there was another Mamma in the waiting room with her son, who looked about Caterina’s age.  The mother kept up a constant, anguished chatter.  “Don’t worry, Amore, you are going to be all right, Mamma will be with you the whole time, it isn’t going to hurt, the nurse is only going to make a tiny, little prick in your arm, I promise you, it will be quick….” and on and on and on she went while her son became steadily more alarmed.

He began fussing, crying and whining, so his mamma added, “Amore, Mamma is going to take you straight to the coffee bar as soon as it is over and we will have a nice treat. Don’t worry —  it won’t be so bad, and I am going to call Papa’ right away and tell him how brave you have been.”

I wanted to ask this woman to stop. She was winding up her son into a hysterical state and I was afraid it might rub off on Caterina.  But Caterina seemed totally indifferent.

When their turn came the son wailed and cried desperately, as soon as it was done his mamma rushed him out and it was our turn.  Cate watched carefully as the nurse took her blood and seemed to actually be enjoying all the undivided adult attention, after all, there was a fair amount of competition at home.  She did not cry or even flinch.

As we walked down the stairs I thought perhaps she had been in her own world and not listening to the anguished conversation in the waiting room.  But as we stepped out on the street and I turned to go home, Caterina pulled on my hand and said, “Mamma, now you have to buy me a treat at the coffee bar.”

 

16 thoughts on “Spurting Blood”

  1. This is brilliant. Honestly I don’t know what it is about Italian mothers… maybe they are addicted to the drama? My officemate rushes off if her son has the slightest temperature and talks to him on the phone like he’s three (he’s 8 or 9). I guess your mom’s “you’re just fine” motto rubbed off. Good job! I plan to use that little gem religiously if I ever become a mother!
    PS I can’t wait to read all these little anecdotes all together in your book!
    PPS Don’t even get me started on the ambulance thing!

  2. Hi, this is an Italian mamma! I have three very very dashing and lively boys, now 17, 15 and 13. No wonder I don’t count the times I was in an emergency unit. Never screamed or cried like it was the end of the world, the same as my sister and cousins and friends….. sometimes doctors say things to divert the attention of the child or adult from the problem….. Suvvia!!!!
    Please report the very core of the Italian mamma tradition NOT at all……….the Italian tradition of teaching children to make a big deal out of the smallest scratch?…….Old and stupid way to comment our passion for children and our confidence in Family as the primary cell of human society.
    Unfortunately I would say that we are turning more “northern European” or “Anglosaxon” in our behavior. On my turn I wish you to be happy with your strong and hard feelings if you consider it the best way to live.
    Ciao

    Cinzia
    By the way…. besides traffic problems, please do not dare to say that we do not give way to ambulances….! please!! This is too much!

    1. Trisha Thomas

      Cinzia — Thank you for your comment. It is wonderful to hear from an Italian Mamma, and I don’t mind you saying that you think I am wrong when I give my impressions of Mammas. My writing is based on what I have experienced but it is by no means a complete descripton of Italian Mammas. We all know that stereo-types can be dangerous. So feel free to comment on any post and correct any perceived errors, you comments will be welcome. Trisha

  3. . . same with Turks; the kids play merry hell and get away with any and everything – pndered to and indulged utterly. What amazes me is that they grow up, by and large, into really nice people – how is that?

  4. Love it, Trisha. How about a post on misbehaving young Italians at the post office (or other public place)? “Massimo, stop it. Massimo. Massimo, stop doing that. Massimo, you’re being too loud. Massimo–stop! Stop, Massimo. Massimo, enough. Enough. Stop it, Massimo…” Oh dear god in heaven…

    1. Trisha Thomas

      That’s hilarious Zach. Yes, I should do a post on kids in the post office. I actually need to do one on Mammoni in general. Thanks for the idea!

  5. ROFL! You’re so right! Really funny how the doctor knew you were una mamma straniera ;-)
    As far as the ambulance is concerned, I didn’t know it was this bad in Rome. Actually, here in Lombardia I am always amazed that this is the only decency drivers have here; pulling aside for an ambulance with screaming sirens. Obviously, the ambulance does have a couple of cars following in it’s slipstream…

    1. Trisha Thomas

      Thank you Sabine.
      Yes, I hope the ambulance situation is better in other parts of Italy, because in Rome it is dreadful. I have heard so many horror stories, and have understood it is better not to risk calling an ambulance.

      Once one gets to the hospital there are lots of excellent doctors in Italy and I am in favor of the Italian Public Health Service that while imperfect is better than the situation we have in the United States where people who don’t have health insurance cannot get treated.

  6. What a great post Trisha, soooo true! I have had some totally bizarre experiences with the kids and hospitals in Italy. I am always the one to take the kids for needles or stay with them during any nasty procedures (my hubby can’t take the kids upset and gets more upset himself), I’ve never understood the Mums who hype their kids up in the waiting room, I still remember my Mum having me just relax for blood tests and I passed this onto our kids.

    Our little boy Luca has autism and a very high threshold for pain so it is very hard to know just how bad an injury is and to have his teachers understand this aspect of his autism.

    Still chuckling and love your observations of life
    ciao lisa

    1. Trisha Thomas

      Great to hear from you Lisa, I think you and I have had a lot of similar experiences with our three children. I always admire your calm, good-humoured and sensitive approach.

  7. AHHH teenagers. I understand them, but I find it sad to think that the Italian teenagers perceptions of Americans is fat and slow : (

    1. Trisha Thomas

      Millie – thank you for your comment. On that particular occasion my teenage son Nico was provoking me saying that Americans are “fat and slow”. He knows better and he actually loves being half American and spending time in the US. That said, most Italians think that Americans are fat and spend their time driving around in big gas-guzzling cars eating fast-food or drinking jumbo-size sodas while driving. That is the stereo-type they have of us. I will do a post about that eventually. I spend a lot of time fending off that stereo-type and try to tell Italians that they should visit the US. But some Italians who go to the US say they have never seen such fat people anywhere in the world. And they may be right. I don’t know the statistics, but I think the US does have the highest number of obese people in the world.

  8. My husband Jim behaves in a similar way when we take our dogs to the vet for their check-ups. I have to hold his hand…….very traumatic for him!!!!!!!

    I agree with you about obesity in the USA…..I think it’s partly due to the fact that for many years the “big is beautiful” mantra was taken too literally and it became politically incorrect to look at obesity in a negative way. That said, I am trying to lose 40 lbs!!!!!!

    1. Trisha Thomas

      What a riot about your husband at the vet. That is hilarious!!! Yes, I will do a post soon on Italian views towards American chubbiness.

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