Warning: this post is slightly graphic.
Two weekends ago, on the 18th I believe, we had a very rough day. While Mike was out working in the yard and I was vacuuming, Isla managed to fall off this very low chair and hit her head on the back of the magna-doodle she was playing with. Somehow, despite the lack of distance of the fall and the seeming innocuousness of the toy she hit, she managed to split her forehead open so deeply that I could see the bone underneath. I then discovered that I do not hold up well in crisis situations.
For some reason (Why? I don't know.), I always thought I would remain very calm in emergencies. This assumption, it turns out, was quite unfounded.
Back to the story -- Upon seeing blood squirt out of my daughter's head, I ran into the kitchen, grabbed a dish towel, and held it to her head. I then ran around the house like an idiot (and out into the garage, twice), yelling at the top of my lungs, "Mike, blood, Mike, emergency", over and over. This did little to calm or reassure Isla. I debated calling my mom, but realized that there was very little she could do, being that she was over 30 minutes away. It never once crossed my mind to call 911. I finally located Mike outside, and then climbed into the car, crying child in my lap, and sat there, again, like an idiot. "Get the keys", I yelled at Mike.
Luckily, we live less than five minutes from a very nice emergency room. We arrived there quickly, Isla and I in pajamas, and Mike in his yard work clothes. They quickly escorted us back to a room and had Isla stitched up and ready to go within a couple of hours. My parents came to keep us company, and Mike's dad and sister stopped by with such essentials as pacifier and pink bear.
When we returned home, Mike and I spent as much quality time with Isla as we could squeeze into the day. Few things make you appreciate your daughter more than witnessing her crack her head open.
That night, as Mike tucked our little one into bed, my neighbor called me and told me that her husband was out of town and she had just heard an intruder in her back yard. She asked if I could send Mike over. I told her to call the police and that Mike was on his way. My poor husband was forced to, for the second time that day, drop everything he was doing and rush out the door. He then spent the next couple of hours dealing with the police, helping my neighbor calm down, and checking her backyard. I was stuck at home, calling them periodically to find out if everything was okay.
When we finally went to bed, some time after midnight, we both agreed that we hoped we did not have another day like that for a very long time.