In April of 2023, my son was attacked by a dog. People differ in how they like to describe the situation. My mom calls it a dog bite. My cousin, who owns the dog in question, still doesn't believe there was a bite, so I'm not sure how she would describe it.
The grown ups in charge at the time gave him two bowls of ice cream and bandaged him up on their own, eventually getting him into clean clothes and to a safer space. I was asked not to seek medical attention, not to report the attack as a dog bite, not to tell the police.
Instead I did all those things and more. I got him in front of a doctor and two mental health professionals to process his trauma. I bought children's books on dog bites for us to read together, and talked to my child about PTSD. My child and I constructed narratives about good dogs and bad dogs, friendly dogs, helper dogs, and dogs that shouldn't be around kids. We spent more than a year slowly reintroducing him to dogs and healing his trauma, with the help of friends and strangers. And today, my son is fairly comfortable with most dogs, and cuddles his favorite big dogs with ease.
Today I was asked how I thought it happened, that my child could be so resilient, could get over this thing so quickly and easily.
First off, he is amazing, He is a strong kiddo, and I am so deeply proud of him. And a lot of friends and dog owners spent time talking to my child, sharing their patient dogs with my child, and generally being awesome.But also, I did that.
I held him, I read to him, I talked to him. I made appointments and drove him to professionals, and asked for advice and took time out of each day to help my child heal. And it was absolutely worth it, because he is an amazing child who deserves to live with joy and without fear. But it was also hard work, and I did that work. He did that work, too. We did that.
And I will say it with my full chest. I did that.
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