Red--The Blood of Her Flayed Leg; Black--The Thread of Stitches Sewn

I knew it would happen sometime:
One day I would receive "the call." The call where the person on the other end is being extremely calm, and they are preparing to tell you one of your kids has been in an accident, however minor, and you weren't there.

Monday night I was finishing up the last few details of my blog post, drooling over the memories, when the phone rang. I answered it before caller ID could identify the call, and I heard, "Hello. Is this Amy?"

Amy is my sister-in-law, so I wasn't too surprised by this, but enough to ask, "What? This is the Dentons. Who is this?"

"Hi. This is Ken. I live across the street from Amy. I have your daughter Lily here (screaming in the background can now be heard). Amy and Hubert aren't home, but she has cut her leg pretty badly, tripping on the camp stove in the backyard. I can see the bone. I'm sure she needs stitches. I am happy to take her to the emergency room. What would you like to do?"

You can see the bone? What on earth?

I rushed out the door as fast as I could, muttering a prayer under my breath: "Heavenly Father, please don't let me freak out when I see it. Help me stay calm for Lily."

I screeched up to their house, knocked on the door, and Amy greeted me with a very somber face.

"How bad is it?" No response, just a nod towards the couch where Lily was sprawled and crying, leg propped up with a cloth diaper bandage strapped to her left shin. She lifted the bandage, and I gasped.   It was far and away the grossest thing I've ever seen.  It looked like the inside of someone's mouth, straight to the bone.

I gasped and looked at Amy.  Then, I felt sick.  That's how bad it was.  Lily started shrieking, "Mom, don't scare me!"

I knew I had to hold it together, with no luxury time for queasiness.  So Hubert gently carried her out to the car while I called our family doctor/close friend.  Before heading to the hospital, we made a quick stop at his house for an evaluation and some advice.  All he could say was, "That's impressive.  Head to Cardon's Children's ER."

Every turn was agony for my girl.  Luckily, she was cradled by her auntie, busily distracting her with stories and jokes.  All the while, we'd exchange meaningful worried glances.  When we pulled into the parking lot, I warned her there were a few turns and some speed bumps.  She retorted, "Didn't they know that hurt people would be coming in here?  Why didn't they plan for this when they built it?"  That's Lily.

Summer in AZ--few respiratory patients, few emergencies.  They brought a wheeled bed out to the Suburban, whisked us right into a room, and evaluated the damage.  After an X-ray, they determined the bone wasn't broken, but they needed to insert an IV to give her pain and anti-nausea meds.  I talked her through the IV, and she was pretty brave.  Remember, she's only 10, and a drama queen to boot, so this was a small blessing.

Once the morphine started to flow we thought she'd be out.  Nope.  She acted as if she'd drunk 2 Red Bulls straight up--flitting from thing to thing and thought to thought like a hummingbird.  Amy and I laughed and relaxed a little.  So far so good.

We had the best nurse, doctor and support staff ever.  The nurse irrigated the wound thoroughly, the one warning our family doc had given me.  Then the doctor came in and carefully reattached the fascia covering the bone, then stitched the gaping wound shut.  Three hours, two nurses, one doctor, three inner stitches, seventeen outer stitches, and this is what we've got:

I was so grateful that there was no bone or muscle damage. I was so grateful that my thirteen-year-old niece acted so calmly in an emergency. I was so grateful the neighbor across the street was a Boy Scout. I was so grateful for a good friend and great medical advice. I was so grateful for a patient, caring staff.

Bottom line, I was so grateful it was summer and the wait in the ER wasn't 6-8 hours as it can get.

And how is the little drama queen now?

She did use crutches all day yesterday, decorated with ribbon and pom poms. But she only had two Tylenol, and today she's up and walking. She can't swim the rest of the summer, but she's fixed.

And now, she'll have a permanent smile on her left shin that I can refer to whenever she's frowning.

Linking up to Jenny Matlock's Color Summer School.