Every mom knows her child’s cry. We know if our child is scared, hungry, sad, startled or in this case hurt. I knew the moment I heard the shrill of Ashton. In slow motion my brain did an instant replay as my legs started moving at a fast forward speed as I reheard the sound of the door closing. I felt light on my feet, but heavy in my stomach. I turned the corner and saw him on his knees head back screaming a sound I had never heard in my life. No parent needs to hear this cry- ever. His hand was elevated and hidden. I knew that his finger/hand was closed in the door jamb.
I saw that he was caught, but I didn’t know the extremity of the situation. Kade was on the other side of the door. He was closing the door to go potty and Ashton’s hand was in the jamb right above the hinge. The door was completely closed. I felt sick. I had to open the door to release his hand. It was then that fear was felt, but the Mama instict took over. Blood started dripping all over the floor. I swooped him up and ran with him into the kitchen. I grabbed the first towel I saw. I wrapped his had the best I could with my left hand and a freaking out one year old. All I knew is the injury was bad.
I had to locate my phone. I try Adam. He is instinct- call Adam. Once I let it ring once I realized it was 911 I needed, not the Daddy. I hung up and my phone turns off. It kept repeating this. I could not get my phone turn on. I am starting to panic. I calm myself down. I breathe. My left arm must have grown in length as it held a wiggling screaming baby and reached across his front to keep his arm out of his reach and above his head! As I am giving my all to keeping him from grabbing the towel I am using my right hand to remove and replace my cells battery. Finally, I get through to an operator. Kudos to me, for I was quite surprised how cool I was. She was sending the troops in.
I call my Mom. Again my phone turns off. I repeat the process. I call and it goes to voicemail. I try again. I get her. I have fright in my voice, “Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom are you there? Can you hear me?” I explain I need her at the house ASAP to take care of Kade. I call Adam. He has to call me back. I say, “There is an emergency. I have called 911. Please call me back.” I couldn’t believe how my elementary school emergency training flooded back! Precise and to the point is always the key.
As we wait I try to think of something to calm Ashton. I didn’t know the severity of his injury, but kept thinking if he moves one more time I will find a finger on my floor. I was nervous. I spot a sippy cup on the kitchen table. “Kaden, will you be Mama’s super helper boy?” He replies, “Uh-huh! Sure.” I request, “Okay! Please go get your cup off the table and let’s give it to Ashton. I think it will make him feel better.” Kade was on board.
Blood is surrounding us on the floor and down my arm. Kade is going to get us the cup. He backs up to the kitchen counters and shimmies on tiptoe sliding across the cupboards into the dining room to avoid the blood. He was well over two feet from a drop! Silly kid. He returns the same way. The cup was a small diversion and big brother was proud. I was glad to see he quit fighting me as I was growing physically tired, but more determined.
The paramedic team arrived. They ask how I am, if I need to hand Ashton over for treatment or if I could hold him. I was able to hold him. They prepare me for the reality that he may not be able to keep the tip of his finger. At this moment here comes my Mom. It was a scene from a daytime drama. All 90lbs of her crouches into herself, hands cupping her mouth and tears rolling, “Oh my god! Oh no. Oh baby…” I have to quickly be the person who is consoling the person I called to help me! What? I quickly tell her she is of no help like that, point to Kade and then in the direction of the living room saying, “Mom! Out! I cannot handle this.” I still laugh about her entrance. It gives me a little humor.
I declined taking the siren (Kaden’s word for ambulance). Mom was there, so she was going to keep Ashton’s finger covered and safe as we drove to the hospital. I did make sure that he would receive the same care if I took him in treatment and more importantly speed. I was assured it didn’t matter. I of course was having one of those terrible stay-at-home-mom days. I had showered hours ago, but was still naked under my robe. One of the men held him while I dressed. They checked our fire detectors and left.
Adam got home just as we were headed out the door. He thought he beat the paramedics, so was a little heated. We all packed up and headed to Milwaukie Providence.
No bull, they didn’t even take Ashton’s info. They say his finger and immediately admitted him into a triage room. I am NOT equal opportunity. There are Mommy jobs and there are Daddy jobs. Thank goodness for Daddies! Adam held our poor scared crying squirming boy through it all. He did so all while layered for a cold days work. I didn’t even see him sweat he was so cool. He held him as they numbed the nerve of both sides of his right ring finger. To stitch the ¼ piece of finger back on they intended to use a board that looks similar to a cradle board used by Native Americans. Adam declined and asked to hold him. Through all of this I waited outside.
I was grateful the doctor asked me to step out as they did the pre-work and stitching. He explained that it would be less stressful for Ashton to have me gone. He wouldn’t wonder why I wasn’t ‘saving’ him. It would allow me to be his comfort when all was finished. I am thankful for Adam who did the really hard job for both of us.
We were told all would be normal in about two weeks. Amazing.
So, we leave with a bandaged and an upset baby. His hand resembles a club. He is going to be fine. In the big scheme of life losing the tip of a finger isn’t the worst thing that can happen. Don’t get me wrong, it is certainly terrible enough. At the end of the day I saw what a great team Adam and I can be. We know what the others strength and weaknesses are. We did well.
And two weeks later the ER doctor was right. Today, Dad took him in to have the stitches removed. Sprites finger recovered like magic. I am still in disbelief how quickly children are able to adapt to injury. He didn’t miss a beat. He fought us and his wrap. He crawled on it the same day and the next day immediately used his left hand for all handling. It was as if he never knew any different.
Every time I hear kids playing and a door close I get an icky feeling inside. I lose my stomach and have to go look. As days pass I am trying to stop the urge from getting up to check. I think I have developed a morbid fear of all doors.
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