It was horrible; I had the worst most awful intensely physical reaction. My whole body shifted into this hyped-up super adrenaline mode, even as I was turning my head away from the blood lest I vomit, or faint, or trip up the stairs myself while carrying my tiny daughter, her body rigid with pain and fear. As soon as I heard the first wail I turned around and was met with a bloody accusation, tiny teeth swimming in red saliva, blood dripping down her chin. She didn’t understand what was all over her hands when she put her fingers to her mouth. “What is it!?”, she cried, terrified. I couldn’t tell where the wounds were; I just scooped her up and ran up the concrete stairs, pleasedontfall pleasedontfall pleasedontfall. I might have been headed for the hotel, but then I saw maintenance guys through the glass windows of the empty conference center and I stood there, mouthing, “I need some help” until someone caught sight of her face and opened up for us.
Where were we? How did we not see this coming? How did she manage to fall up the stairs? It was just that kind of thing, you know? You don’t think in a million years that the child will just simply not think to lift her foot when she meets the stairs. You’re not even watching out for that.
There is nothing more horrible than the sound of my children in pain. My reaction is visceral, primitive. In that moment, I would allow a limb removed with a can opener. I would walk outside and throw myself down the fucking concrete stairs if only- if we could just rewind and undo all this. I find myself making demands of a god in whom I don’t believe, just back up a minute, just let this NOT HAVE HAPPENED, this is not fair, this is my little girl and she is bleeding, this is wrong make it stop. All I could do for her was press my forehead to hers, stroke her hair, and allow her to be hurt, and to vocalize that. There was blood everywhere. Somehow I convinced her to lift up her top lip so that I got a look at her teeth-none broken, nothing knocked out, but one front tooth is jammed up a little in the gum and back a bit behind the other one. Today the gum surrounding that tooth is gray, but the only pain she complains of is related to the cuts on her chin.
Security came, the paramedics came, and the manager of the resort came. They asked me to take a piece of gauze and wipe the blood off her chin so that we could see the wound and I still get nauseous thinking about that split second where I should have said no but didn’t, and the subsequent resurgence of agony that I caused when I scraped gauze over her open chin wound. “That’s not stray blood”, I said over her screams. “That’s where the skin is gone” MOTFY awards, here I come.
We refused a trip to the E.R. so were asked to sign a release, and I did that. By this time the bleeding had slowed even if the wailing had not. She begged me not to take her to the doctor, and since she was well enough to beg, I promised I would not. I thought we’d snuggle up in bed for the night, order some 12-dollar room service ice cream and watch the Cartoon Network, but once her Dad showed up it was clear that she wanted the comforts of home. So they left, and I was free to wallow in my guilt all night long. The seven uninterrupted hours of sleep was nice, though.
I leave you with some photographs:
Happier times earlier in the day:
One of TeenHer’s best photographs ever:
And finally: post-accident, waiting for Dad. This is the face that haunted my dreams last night.
I feel for you! Poor Avery! /hugs to her.
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((Avery)) So sorry Summer. I know that feeling well. (I have very clumsy kids)
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OUCHIE!! Hope it’s feeling much better.
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Oh no!!! I’m so sorry!!!
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Yikes, poor mama and baby.
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Oh, poor little mama.
(((((((avery))))))
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