Last night I cut my daughter’s fingernails. All of them. And that’s a pretty big deal because a few months ago, doctors weren’t sure she’d have a fingernail growing back on her left hand’s middle finger. They were optimistic, but not making any promises. They assured me that we could do another surgery later and do some cosmetic things if necessary. I wasn’t sure I would be onboard for all of that. So, I hoped and prayed for the best.
Let me tell you how we got to this point.
In mid-March when our entire world was shutting down, I agreed to do a reading of my picture book Oggie the Otter for the wonderful Houston Moms Blog (love y’all!). I was going to be reading on Facebook Live and you know those darn things stay up forever, so I was trying my best to fix myself up–not my forte. I had just finished curling my hair and applying a heavier-than-usual coat of makeup when I heard one of the kids slam the door that leads to the garage. Then I heard our youngest scream.
I wasn’t sure what had happened, but I knew that my husband would probably need backup. So I rushed downstairs thinking I would still have plenty of time to go set up lighting before the Live was scheduled to begin.
When I got to the kitchen, I saw my husband carrying our still-sobbing little girl over to the kitchen sink. She was holding her hand tightly and I wasn’t sure what to expect. I have four boys, so I’ve seen my fair share of gory injuries. My husband was able to convince our sweet girl to put her hand into the stream of water to rinse it off. The words, “Do you think she’ll need stitches?” were coming out of my mouth in a whisper for only my husband to hear. That’s when I saw it (if you’re squeemish, you might want to skip the next paragraph).
The entire top of her finger lifted off. It was like Charlie Chaplin tipping his hat. Only bloodier–and devastatingly tinier. And I stopped asking questions. I got a flour sack towel and wrapped her hand in it as I took her in my arms.
We would need to go somewhere–but I wasn’t sure where. Coronavirus had already started changing our hospitals and I wasn’t sure what my best option was. My husband grabbed an ice pack from the freezer and handed it to me to wrap inside her towel. I rushed her to the garage and strapped her–my whole body ached in empathy when I had to try to carefully maneuver the strap over and around her left arm–into her carseat in our minivan. I rushed back into the house to get my shoes and her shoes and my purse and a backup battery and a few other things I can’t remember now that I thought I’d need. In the meantime, my quick-thinking husband gave her some children’s Motrin and stood by her side until I came rushing back.
Only a few minutes after the Charlie Chaplin incident, I was backing out of our driveway. Mom-adrenaline flowing through my veins. I had to save my baby girl’s finger. I decided to try the urgent care center near our house. I knew they had an x-ray machine and I hoped it would be safer than going to a hospital. And I was right: they had signs on their doors saying that they were not equipped to treat or test for COVID-19. I ran inside and asked the receptionist if they could help my daughter who had severely hurt her finger in a door slam. They looked at me like I was crazy, but assured me that they could help. I went back to untangle my upset child from her car seat straps.
When the urgent care doctor took one look at my baby girl’s finger, he folded the towel back over her hand and told me I’d better get her to Texas Children’s Hospital. He said that her finger was so tiny and the break was too complicated. There was nothing they could do for her there. I gathered my little girl in my arms, grabbed my insurance cards on the way out, and performed the stomach-twisting carseat buckling all over again.
At some point I had started to write a message to my friends at the Houston Moms Blog to let them know that I wasn’t going to be home for my reading. But I finished it and sent it before I headed to Texas Children’s Hospital.
On the way to the hospital, I called our pediatrician’s cell phone. He gave it to us when our twins were fresh out of their two-month stay in the NICU and I might have used it one other time in the 11 years since. But tonight was so full of unknowns. I tried to keep my cool as I explained (squeemish folks might want to skip ahead) how my son slammed the door and my 4-year-old daughter had her hand near the hinge and the tip of her finger got slammed into the hinge side of that heavy door and had been severed. I told the pediatrician that I had tried to take her to an urgent care facility and that they recommended I go straight to the hospital. Looking back, I’m not exactly sure why I called him. Maybe just because I wanted someone with medical expertise to tell me–sight unseen–that she would be alright. Maybe because I wanted someone to tell me that I was not putting my child at risk bringing her to a hospital amidst a new and unfamiliar pandemic. He reassured me by saying he would check on her file in the morning to see what was going on.
A minute or two after the panicked phone call with the pediatrician ended, I was parking in the Texas Children’s Hospital West Campus parking lot. I grabbed the bag I had packed and my jacket (it’s always cold in hospitals, don’t you think?) and then went about the untangling process with my sweet girl and her carseat straps again. I can’t even remember now if I carried her in or if she walked. I had so much adrenaline flowing through me at that point, I probably could’ve carried the whole van into the hospital if that’s what it took.
It was the first time I’d seen a COVID-19 screening station. We had to pass the screening and get a special bracelet before we could even go into the ER. It was equal parts eery and reassuring. The ER was uneasy and quiet. Only a few other people were in the waiting room–all “socially distanced” (it was a new term then).
When I explained to the receptionist at the front desk what had happened, they understood the urgency of the situation. I think I sat down, but not for more than five minutes before someone called us back. I was still filling out the paperwork on the clipboard. Back when we shared pens and clipboards a little more freely. I brought it back with us. They wanted to check her vitals, but my baby girl was tired. She would not stand on the scale. I ended up weighing myself (does anybody enjoy public weigh-ins?), then weighing myself holding her.
Once they saw my sweet girl’s finger, things moved pretty quickly. We met a doctor and a surgeon and were given a room. We spent the next several hours dealing with x-rays, surgery prep, and waiting until it had been enough hours since she last ate. The highlight of my night was when the x-ray technician came to get us to bring us to the x-rays, they asked if she could walk. I nodded that she could walk. After the technician left the room, my funny girl leaned over, eyebrows raised, and said, “Mom, I want to ride in a wheelchair.” I couldn’t help but smile. Even amid all of the chaos, my girl wanted an adventure.
The thing I love most about children’s hospitals is how much nicer all the doctors and nurses and technicians seem to be. I wish I could be seen at children’s hospitals! The surgery happened in the early morning hours of the next day. I stayed in the room, trying to stay out of the way so the specialists could do what they needed to do. I felt physical pain (squeemish people, you know the drill) as I watched three doctors (a surgeon, an ER doctor, and a resident) all playing a crude game of tug-of-war with my little girl’s fingernail. It hurt me and sent shooting pains through my arms. I had to look away. I texted my husband quite a bit during that time. Her finger had been severed right above the nail bed. The doctors were in a huddle deciding what should be done with the lower half of the fingernail and the tiny piece of fingernail on the still attached part of her finger.
I was sending up silent prayers.
Hours later, my sweet girl’s finger had been sewn together. She would need to be seen by a children’s hand surgeon (I hadn’t even realized they existed) very soon and we left the hospital that day with instructions and a referral to the hand clinic.
I asked my husband to set up the trundle bed in our little girl’s room so I could be there if she needed me during the night. The doctors said sometimes nightmares and nausea are after-effects of anesthesia. Plus, my little girl’s broken finger was loosly wrapped in gauze and those fresh stitches weren’t supposed to see much action for the next couple weeks.
We got an appointment with a hand surgeon for the very next day. Looking back, I am so grateful for the timing because only a few weeks later (as I learned at our follow-up and cast removal), the new coronavirus regulations meant that doctors like hand doctors fall under the umbrella of plastic surgeons and the majority of their surgeries are considered “elective.” Fortunately we saw this wonderful doctor who recommended putting her in a cast to keep her from bumping her finger and giving it time to heal. I hadn’t even know that was an option, but after the couple hours at home where I was constantly reminding her and her brothers that they had to be extra careful and trying to keep her still on the couch, I knew that weeks of being still would be impossible. And since her arm is still so small, they had to do a full-arm cast all the way up past her elbow so it wouldn’t slip off!
I am sharing this story with you today in all it’s glory because I want you to see how traumatic it all felt. Yes, it was a finger. No, her life was probably not in danger (unless it got infected, I guess). But my little girl was hurt and in immense pain. My baby. And on top of that, I was witnessing what the “outside world” was becoming now that coronavirus had come to stay for the foreseeable future. It was a lot.
And because we were all in quarantined isolation, nobody really ever saw her cast. Nobody signed it. Nobody got to see how much of a trooper she was keeping her arm bent for a few weeks.
But friends still took the time to show they cared.
A few days after the incident, an Amazon delivery came to our doorstep–they weren’t ringing the doorbell then, so we discovered it there unexpectedly. It was a gift from one of my best friends and her daughter who wanted to brighten my daughter’s day. My girl still loves that cute toy. In fact, she was playing with it just last night before I came in to cut her fingernails. And yes, I cut all ten. Her fingernail has finally grown back. And even if you look closely, you can’t perceive the tiny scars.
Right after she got her lovely green cast (her favorite color), my dear friend Rachel came by with a matching green necklace. She wanted to brighten my girls’ day. And she totally did! What girl doesn’t feel more elegant in a fancy necklace??
Which brings me to our blogiversary celebration.
Blogiversary Giveaway Time!
Today the same Rachel is giving TWO lucky winners two shop credits for her shop Isabella Lane with a value of $25 each! Want to know more about Isabella Lane and why this prize is so awesome? Rachel says, “We sell Bubblegum Necklaces in both the traditional size and our new smaller size…. our chiclets!
We also have earrings, bracelets (with a women’s line starting this month as well and teething items, both teething clips as well as teething rings.
We are also introducing children’s purses and women’s wallets and small messenger bags at the end of the month during our 6 month anniversary sale.
Overall we are an accessories store and we can’t wait to continue to grow with what our customers want.”
You can use your $25 Isabella Lane credit to customize and get the unique design you envision!
Blogiversary 2020–Isabella Lane Giveaways
Just reading it made me hurt, it’s so hard when your child is hurting and you can’t fix it! I’m so happy her nail had grown back!!
I love the fun necklaces!
Sorry! I tried to warn you about the worst parts! I know it could’ve been SO much worse and I am so grateful that we had access to a hospital nearby and health insurance and everything. But in that moment, it was EXTRA.
Rachel’s necklaces are gorgeous!
I’m so glad her nail grew back! I had no idea this whole thing happened!!! Call me next time! I like the fun necklaces, but Megan would love them! Thanks for sharing with us!