Life Hurts

It's been more than five years since Aaron and I became parents, and I've been thankful to declare that as rambunctious as Katie and Adam are we've never made a trip to the emergency room. Our streak ended last night. One in five years isn't too bad, but two aspects surprised me: 1) Adam, my daredevil, wasn't our first patient and 2) the injury wasn't a result of kids being kids, but of Mommy being a klutz.

We'd just finished dinner and, as usual for a Tuesday, I was speedily washing dishes in the five minutes before I needed to leave for a group I co-lead at church. Life with my family is wonderful - so much more than I could have imagined - but it's been stressful to say the least, surprisingly more so than working in a newsroom. I've greatly benefited from taking a medication that helps me manage that stress. I've been taking it for a couple of years, and it works well without making me feel like a different person. In fact, the only side effect I've noted is a near-inability to cry. Not a bad side effect since I don't have time for that anymore.

At the sink, my mind went through a short list of things I had to accomplish in those precious few minutes: slather on a layer of BB cream in lieu of full-on makeup and a quick trip to the lil' girl's room before scooping up Nora and my books and heading out the door. Nora, who at 9 months old will scarcely let me out of her sight, was playing at my feet as I rinsed off the last item - my Santoku knife.

My Santoku knife holds the most-favored tool status in my kitchen. Given my cooking obsession, I'd say it's the equivalent of the candy apple red Corvette my dad keeps in his garage and rubs with a diaper, except I use my knife way more often than that car gets driven. In fact, my knife almost never makes it back into its slot in our child-proof knife drawer, and I insist on hand washing it.

So I rinsed its silver blade and was about to place it in the drying rack when it slipped out of my hand, falling straight at my daughter's beautiful upturned face. If I live to be 1,000 years old, I don't think I'll ever be able to forget that seemingly endless moment. My sweet baby's blue eyes fixed on me as that blade turned over and over on its way down, finally coming to rest on her forehead. At first I thought it landed on its broad side but discovered otherwise when I lifted it off her - a gash about an inch and a half in length positioned vertically over her left eye.

Oh my sweet Lord, thank you for protecting my baby's eyes!

I yelled for Aaron, who darted upstairs with Katie and Adam right behind him. Grabbing car keys and shoeless kids (Adam, who had been playing dress-up, was wearing a dinosaur costume from three Halloweens ago.), we were in the car and on our way to Kosair Children's Hospital in 60 seconds flat. In the mean time, I called my co-leader Mary to let her know why I wasn't going to be at our study that night, at which point tears started flowing. And in the back seat of our car, sitting in the floor between Nora and Adam, I just couldn't keep it together.

Every guilty thought the enemy could hit me with rocketed through my cloudy mind as I bawled. I knew Nora would be fine and only required a few stitches, but that knowledge just wouldn't stop the emotional flood. How could I let this happen? I've marred my daughter's beautiful face! And then the worst - I could have killed her. How could I go on living if that had happened?

The baby had stopped crying by then and looked at me in wonder, but my wailing had scared our son. From the driver's seat, Aaron wisely asked Adam to pray for Nora and Mommy, and that sweet little dinosaur complied, holding my hand.

Thank the Lord for children's hospitals, whose staff know to not even ask frantic parents to sign documents when they come through the door. God bless you wise, compassionate people! They took me and Nora back almost immediately, while poor Aaron was left in charge of two very hyper preschoolers in the waiting room.

By then Nora was her calm, happy self, charming hospital staff with smiles and babbles, but I was still pretty shaken. With each doctor and nurse who came into the room, I recounted the ugly story, half expecting the next person to walk in to be from Child Protective Services. A nurse gave Nora medicine to make her just this side of sleeping. Strapped into a papoose, Nora babbled as a doctor sewed seven stitches into her head. Scarring should be minimal, she said, and by the time Nora is full grown, it will likely have migrated northward into her hairline.

Thank you, Great Physician, for news that my girl's beautiful face won't be noticeably damaged!

When I toted Nora in her car seat back out to the lobby, I found Katie and Adam happily trotting around the open room, closely followed by John, a friend of ours who was helping Aaron keep the kids occupied. Once we got home, as I prepared Nora for bed, there was a knock at the nursery door. My best friend poked her head in to see how we were. What a sight for bloodshot eyes! She hugged me, reassured me that I'm a good mother and prayed with me before heading back out. And today I received emails, voice mails and texts from concerned friends who did the same.

The Lord has graciously surrounded me with family and friends who hold me up and encourage me when I'm at my lowest.

Sleep did not come easy last night, but this morning I found new mercy, along with a happy baby and a grateful heart. Life is hard - painful at times - just like Jesus said it would be. But I have the assurance that I'll never have to go through it alone, and yesterday was no exception.