The Worst Day

June 29, 2011 was one of the worst days of my life. It started out well enough.  We had decided to visit the open-air museum in Gamla Linköping. We had been there once before with some good friends, and the kids had lots of fun washing clothes the old-fashioned way, building a car out of scrap wood and nails, and more. The same was true of this trip. Until we decided to go make some rope.

The girl (it was her first day on the job in this area of the museum) was explaining about the rope-making process, and she was showing us the fibers before we went to make our own rope. Meanwhile, AJ and H, being the impatient boys that they are, ran over to the more interesting rope-making machine (which was full of gears). I heard AJ turning it rapidly, I turned to tell him to stop, and that is when H stuck his fingers in the gears. I heard him cry, expecting him to be hurt, but I was not prepared for the severity of the injury. I was shocked and horrified, and I screamed. He was crying and crying, and there was no consoling him. This was different than any injury I have dealt with before. The girl got us some paper towel to put over the wound and catch the blood that was pouring down his arm, my arm, and dripping onto the floor and my pants. Then she ran to get help.  

Meanwhile, AJ stood there with his hands over his mouth, horrified, himself, at what had just happened. I couldn’t give him the hugs and consolation that I am sure he needed, and that bothered me until I could talk to him the next morning.

While we waited for help, I lost it. I started crying, too. I couldn’t help it. After H’s hand was bandaged, one man offered to drive us to the ER. I gave my car keys to my sister, Jaime, and she took care of my kids and her family while I got in the car to seek help for my little guy. She also called Timo to let him know what happened. He immediately left for the ER.

At the ER, we were admitted immediately, but it took forever for a doctor to see H. After more than 6 hours, one dose of acetaminophen, two doses of morphine, two rounds of x-rays, numbing cream, a shot of local anesthesia, and 5 stitches, we were finally on our way home.

I had a hard time falling asleep that night. It felt good to be on the healing end of such an incident, but those first images of his finger and the horror that accompanied them kept replaying in my mind. H ended up in our bed that night, but I was happy to have him close by to reassure me that he was okay.