A Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day

*This needs a disclaimer:  This is a stream of consciousness post.  It's long-winded, but it's all I've got right now.  

Yesterday was a traumatic day in the Gillette household.  It started off like most Mondays, but come lunch time it took a drastic turn for the worse.

We had just got home from running a quick errand to pick up milk and miscellaneous items that we didn't really need from Target.  I was getting ready to get lunch going for the kids.  Quinn sat at our dining table and started to drink some water that was left out from the day before.  It was in a glass, and I reminded him to be careful and to use two hands.  "Okay, Mommy" he responded sweetly.
                 
The next thing I knew Quinn had fallen, the glass shattered, and there was blood everywhere.  I panicked internally but kept my cool outwardly (I think?).  I knew it was really bad instantaneously.  I quickly grabbed a dish towel and my phone and looked at Quinn's hand trying to determine where the wound(s) was/were.  All 5 fingers were in tact.  Phew.  And then I saw the middle of his palm, completely sliced, skin flapping.  The details are gory and I apologize for that.  I wrapped up his hand with that towel as tightly as I could and I called Pat.  Everything happened so quickly and I debated about whether or not I should call Pat first or 911, but since my phone has a California area code I knew I'd get routed to the wrong location and I just needed to have Pat take care of this for me.  It was lunchtime and since he works out during his lunch I couldn't reach him.  I called 911 myself.  Sure enough, my call had to get rerouted to my area, but it wasn't a big deal.  I gave them my address and help was sent our way.  They told me to apply pressure to the wound (which I was already doing), and assured me that help would be there shortly.

While we were waiting for the first responders I sat, sobbing with Quinn.  I knew I had to get Kira contained so she didn't walk in any of the glass or blood that was scattered along the floor.  I gently scooped her up while carrying Quinn, never letting go of his hand.  He cried, "You're hurting me Mommy, you're hurting me" over and over again.  Kira screamed in her highchair, and I sat there helpless, just praying.

The first responders came, checked Quinn's wound, and told me it wasn't as bad as it looked.  He was going to be okay.  They bandaged him up with gauze and tape, and said that they didn't feel the need to bus us all to the hospital.  However, it was important that Quinn get to the nearest ER as soon as possible.  I couldn't wrap my mind around letting go of Quinn to sit in the drivers seat and get him to the hospital.  But, I knew that's what needed to be done and so I summoned the strength to do so.  About this same time Pat called back (I had sent him his first ever 911 text message) and that's when I really lost it.  Whenever something scary is happening I try and keep it together as best as I can until I can pass all of the emotion and stress on to Pat.  When I talked to Pat I tried to instruct him to meet us at the hospital immediately, although he couldn't understand me through my sobs.  One of the first responders took the phone from me and talked to Pat himself.  I remember him saying reassuringly, "First of all, you need to know that your family is okay."  He then instructed Pat to come home because he felt I was in no condition to drive.  As Pat sped home from work the EMT cleaned up the mess for us, put away the milk that I had just purchased, and helped load the kids and me into the car so we'd be ready to take off as soon as Pat got home.  While waiting in the car I tried to clean up as much of the blood from Quinn and me as I could.  Kira just sat there quietly.  The EMT were incredibly helpful and kind.



When Pat got home we drove off to the hospital.  I never let go of Quinn's hand until he fell asleep on the ride.  By the time we got to the hospital, Quinn was acting "normalish".  If it weren't for his blood-stained clothes and mummy wrapped hand, it would have appeared we had no business being at the hospital.  I was feeling much better at this point, and was relieved to know we'd be getting him the help he needed and going home.  In the triage room, Quinn said to the nurse, "The doctor willy nice, Mommy.  He wub (love) me a lot".  I said something like, "Yes Quinn, the doctor is going to stitch you up and make you all better".  That's when the nurse looked at me as said, "Well, they'll take a look and talk to you about what to do next."  I asked what he meant by that, but he just said that the doctor would take a look.  After about 2 hours of waiting to be seen, they finally called Quinn's name.  Pat took him in while I sat in the waiting room with Kira.  The nurses response to me in the triage room had made me nervous, and I was afraid I wouldn't be strong enough for Quinn.  After taking a look at the severity of Quinn's wound, the doctor recommended we be transferred to the Seattle Children's Hospital.  The children's hospital would have more specialists on hand and it seemed as if sedation was going to be necessary.

*The ridiculous series of photos I took while waiting at hospital #1

           
When Pat gave me the news that we were being transferred and that Quinn would likely have to be sedated, I lost it again.  When Quinn saw me he said with a quivering lip, "The doctor don't wanna help me."  My heart was completely broken.  I can't describe how helpless I felt, and how much blame I placed on myself for letting him drink out of that glass.  I felt myself unraveling.  Pat suggested he take Kira and I home first, but I wouldn't have it.  I knew that that would add an hour to the trip, and I just wanted Quinn seen, and helped, as quickly as possible.

We made our way to the Children's hospital and waited some more.  The triage nurse there was great and described what would likely take place.  She described 3 levels of sedation that would be necessary, based on the severity of the damage.  I spent the vast majority of our time at the Children's hospital in waiting rooms with Kira.  She was such a trooper all day.  After close to 3 hours there, as Quinn was being seen by a chain of doctors, each one passing him on to the next specialist, the doctors determined that Quinn would need to be sedated to be examined thoroughly enough to determine what course of action to take to repair his hand.   I knew that I couldn't be there any longer.  Kira needed to go to bed, and I was no help in waiting rooms.

Pat called Will, and he came and picked Kira and I up and drove us home.  It was close to 8 by this time.  I fed Kira some dinner, let her play for a bit in the comfort of our home, and put her to bed.  Then I went to work trying to reset the house and erase the memory of what had occurred earlier that day.  I swept, I vacuumed, I mopped, and repeated.  I obsessively cleaned to ensure that there would be no remaining slivers of glass that could further harm our family.  And after I cleaned the floor as best as I could I moved on to other areas of the house.  I had so much pent up energy that I had to release.  The only way I knew how was by cleaning.

Pat had no cell service in the hospital room, and his phone was dying so even if he did, he couldn't really update me.  After a couple of hours with no updates I called the hospital to talk to Pat.  This is when he informed me that I hadn't heard any updates because they were still waiting.  I waited close to another hour and called again.  This time the nurse couldn't transfer me to the room because the team of doctors were in there working on Quinn.  She promised to have Pat call me as soon as the procedure was over.

When Pat called he said that Quinn did great.  The doctors were able to repair his hand, and it didn't look like there was any tendon damage.  It was such a relief, I couldn't do anything but cry.  Pat said that they were just waiting for Quinn to wake up from the anesthesia, and that then they would be discharged shortly after.  We hoped they would be home within the hour.

I finished cleaning, and prepared a bed for Quinn on the floor in our bedroom.  I didn't know how Quinn would be feeling, if he'd wake up in pain, and honestly, I knew that I just needed to be able to open my eyes and see him whenever I wanted in the middle of the night.  I climbed into bed and patiently waited for Pat and Quinn to get home.  They didn't get home for another three hours, at around 2am.

Quinn was pretty loopy from the medication still, but he was as sweet as can be.  He was friendly and happy, and of course, exhausted.  We put him in some pajamas and he crawled into bed where he slept soundly until morning.

He woke up happy, but obviously still had the drugs in his system.  He was quite uncoordinated, as I had to carry him up and down the stairs most of the morning.   By midday he was back to his normal self, tantrums and all.  He's adapting quite well to his one-handedness too.  It hasn't seemed to slow him down one bit.  Kids are so amazing.  And Quinn was so tough.  He didn't have an ounce of pain medication until they sedated him, more than 10 hours after the accident occurred.

Earlier this evening, Quinn came up to me and just hugged me.  Long and hard.  And while hugging me he whispered, "I so sorry mommy.  I so sorry I spilled the water and hurt my hand."  And he wasn't apologizing selfishly.  He was apologizing to me.

This morning

Will said something to me yesterday along the lines of, it's moments like this when we truly experience what it means to live.  Part of living is experiencing trauma, and being reminded just how much of a gift life is.  As I reflect on this experience, I can't help but feel grateful.  Everything is going to be okay.

Quinn is a gift, and I couldn't love him more.