Fear
The wound needed to be cleaned, and I was the only one who could do it, so I started in on it. I'd dealt with blood since puberty; I'd seen wounds before; I'd never had any issues. But it was my little boy's head we were talking about here. I just had to remind myself to clean away the blood, one swipe at a time. But even one swipe at a time was hard to do when I was getting hot and feeling like I was going to throw up. Why? I did not have time for this! I had to clean his head wound! I had to get him to a hospital if it went too deep, so I had to know if it was too deep! I had to step away. I had to breathe. I had to stop being hot. Go back and clean a few swipes. Step away. Go back and try to see how deep the wound went. The blood was all I could see. I couldn't see past it to what I needed to be able to assess whether or not I needed to take him to get stiches. So I had to cover the wound and go ask my neighbor (who is a doctor) to look for me. It was hard to get through. I was kind of surprised by this sudden weakness; I didn't know I had it in me.