In May, my six-year-old daughter, Julia, smashed into our front door handle and got a deep, bloody gash in her forehead.
We rushed her, head wrapped like a tiny mummy, to the medical center at MIT, where we generally go for pediatric care. Julia wept while the nurse cleaned and examined her lacerated skin. After a short exam, she sent us to the emergency department at Children’s Hospital Boston for stitches. “How bad is that, generally?” I asked, having never experienced suturing either for myself or my cautious, risk-averse, older daughter.
“It can be traumatic,” the nurse said.
Julia cried, “I don’t want stitches.”
It’s a large needle, but Julia is too busy coloring to notice.
So I braced myself for the worst: an endless wait and nerve-wracking bustle; screaming, germ-laden children and brusque, end-of-shift staff. But more than anything, I dreaded the inevitable pain in store for my small child with the deep cut.
(I know, kids get banged up on the path to adulthood and some pain is unavoidable. Still, when bloody heads are involved, I tend to overreact.)
Indeed, I was in full Mama Bear mode when into our exam room strode Dr. Baruch Krauss, the attending physician that evening.
Dark, lean and intense, Dr. Krauss shook my hand and then went straight to Julia, complimenting her pink, sparkly shoes. She lit up and was eager to chat. They talked about exactly how old she was (nearly six-and-three-quarters) and what she likes to do (climb trees). Then he gently rubbed a bit of Novocaine gel on her cut and said he’d be back.
I hovered nervously around Julia, checking and rechecking the cut and generally exuding anxiety, while my husband sat quietly, telling me to calm down. Sure, that’ll work.
Five times over the next 40 minutes or so, Krauss came in and re-applied the anesthetic, gently squeezing the site with his thumb and forefinger. Why, I wasn’t sure. Was it a dosing thing? Was he just numbing the wound even more before the scary stitching began? With each visit, he engaged Julia to learn something new about her. For instance, she loves to draw.
And, she loves snacks. On my way back from the cafe with treats, Krauss stopped me in the hall and said something like, “I’m going to stitch her up; it really won’t be bad.” I rolled my eyes. But, he added, “I need you to work with me. I’m going to give you a task.” Fine, I said, though the whole thing sounded a little gimmicky.
Krauss returned with an oversized 101 Dalmations coloring book and a handful of Magic Markers. He opened to a page overflowing with dog outlines. “Julia,” he said. “I want you to color each dog’s ear a different color, OK? Which color do you want to start with?”
“Purple,” she said, grabbing the marker. Focused, driven and completely oblivious to the large needle now going into her head, Julia colored in dog ears for the next 30 minutes. (This is a kid who, when awaiting her first flu shot, sprinted down a hallway until cornered by three nurses.) Every once in a while, Julia checked with Krauss to see if he approved of the colors. Great, he said. “Now, their paws. Each a different color.”
My job was to hold the coloring book up straight.
My husband took video. (That was his stress-reducing task, I suspect.)
As Julia drew, Krauss stitched, about five or six tiny loops in her head. He continued to chat with Julia about the picture and her color scheme; then he’d return to stitching. Soon, it was over. Julia finished her picture and signed it: “To Baruch, Love Julia.”
As we left the hospital, hand in hand into the night, my daughter looked up at me and grinned. “Well, Mama, at least I didn’t have to get stitches.” I looked back at Julia, with her bandaged head and big eyes: “But honey, you did get stitches.” “Really?” she twirled. “Well it was fun.” And she jumped into the car.
The entire experience was so profoundly different from any other medical encounter I’ve ever had as a mother. I understand that in an emergency, the priority is to fix the damage as fast and efficiently as possible. But Krauss offered such a higher level of care that I wanted to know more.
So I Googled him, and my mouth dropped as I read his profile: “Baruch Krauss’ research focuses on pharmacological and non-pharmacological techniques for relieving acute anxiety and pain in children undergoing diagnostic and therapeutic procedures in the emergency department… (my bold).
We’d won the ER lottery with this guy. It was like going in for your regular, ho-hum therapy session and finding Freud. This doctor chose my priority as his priority: to spare my child from pain.
But the story isn’t over. Continue reading