the WORST damage from Ike...

Friday afternoon Edward borrowed his father's latter so he could clean our rain gutters. He used shock cords to secure the latter to the van.
(shock cords:)

Esme & Alice got a hold of the cords before they were returned to Grandpa and put safely away. It was one of those moments where I wanted them put away and not played with, but couldn't see the amazing danger they posed and the girls really wanted to play with them. The girls played with them the rest of the day, tying things up and dragging them around and playing Captain Hook. Saturday morning, after the hurricane, we went to Grandma's house for chocolate chip pancakes. Alice, Esme, and Grandma were playing in the garage later that morning. Eric, Julie, Edward, & I were beginning a game of Star Wars Monopoly and I was quickly taking the lead. Suddenly, Grandma comes into the house calling my name. I can tell her voice is stressed so I jump up and meet Grandma halfway. She's holding Esme and I see blood on her shirt.

The tale: Alice held one hook end and Esme held the other. Alice went down the small plastic slide in the garage and lost control of her hook. It rebounded back and hit Esme just below the eye.

The ride: I carried Esme in my arms to the in-law's old green van (that could weather the streets full of fallen trees) and Edwardl drove us towards the Emergency Room. We stopped by her pediatrician's office just in case, and of course it closed because of Ike, so we continued on to the ER. We arrived at 12:50 in the afternoon.

The ER or Hell, which ever word you're comfortable with: The triage man-nurse didn't think she needed stitches. Now I know that this is very, very bad. The triage nurse is who assigns an acute value. The ER sees patients based on their acuteness, or life-threating-ness. I was very polite and understanding for the first four hours. I saw the people coming in with broken bones or gashes. I'm reasonable. I understand. Esme was very good and we were very blessed that it didn't hurt as much and we tried to keep an ice pack on it as much as she would let us. After being there for a bit we were able to get into the children's corner which had the Disney channel playing on a low, huge tv. The corner had a wall protecting her from all the blood, moans, and quite a lot of swear words of the adult patients. After six hours I went to the administration desk and asked if they still had her file and knew we were still here. They said yes and they would go get someone to look at her. I'd already had an emotional melt down because as we waited and hoped each time they opened the door they would call her name it became more despairing as they began to take patients with little cuts on their legs, but not my baby who had a huge gash across her face.

I went back to the administration desk. This time I was barely comprehendable. I stood their sobbing and choked out words like, "my baby... gash on her face... waiting... please!" The lady compassionately promised to go get a doctor (2nd promise made and broken).

A nurse was walking around the ER taping up all the cut/slash victims so I went and got him and had him look at Esme. He thought she'd need stitches. At nine pm I went to the desk and talked to the same triage nurse who checked her in. He promised he would do three things and then help us (at least the third promise made and broken I'm sure I've forgotten a few). About this time the waiting room was bursting at the seams with people. The nurse in charge came around and made everyone who wasn't waiting to see a doctor wait outside. She even made Edward leave saying only one parent could stay with Esme.

At nine forty five I confronted a different nurse in charge and she promised to go and locate Esme's file (fourth promise made and broken). I then stood with Esme in my arms in front of the door. A nurse told me her name was near the top of the list so I held her right there until they let us back after eleven pm. We sat in the hall next to a little boy who had an invisible rash by his ear and a woman with a huge, nasty pussy, infected bug bite on her chin. A very nice nurse gently cleaned Esme's gash and we waited. By this time Esme had fallen asleep in my arms. An anesthesiologist from India came over and started stabbing this lady's bulge to relieve the puss. She was screaming and pushing him off like nothing I have ever seen. We were sitting on a bench together. One that has two seats connected together and sharing an arm rest. It's been a long time since I've wanted to hit or yell an another adult. I was trying to keep Esme from freaking out and she was NOT HELPING! I rocked Esme and sang primary songs to her until she fell asleep again. Finally, the anesthesiologist comes to look at Esme's face. I understand under-staffed and I understand the trauma of the ER, believe me I do. After touching her face, w/o gloves, he pulled off his glasses and says, "Do you see any scars on my face?" "Yes, one here and one here." As I pulled my finger back from his skin he said, "Oh, most people don't notice them. Your daughter will be fine." "Maybe if she was my son it would be different. This is my daughter and she's going to be sixteen someday and care that there is a boomerang shaped scar the length of her almond shaped eye." He left. Shortly afterward a friendly doctor came and looked at Esme's gash. "Oh yes! She'll need some stitches! We'll fix her right up!" Finally, someone who knew what they were talking about.

Hell, yes that's right! We haven't been there yet: They led us to a gurnee in the hallway outside the examination rooms. Esme was asleep and I cuddled up with her on the bed. A nurse brought some numbing medicine on a cotton ball and told me to hold in on the gash for twenty minutes. The medicine was cold and woke Esme up. By now she was completely exhausted and unable to reason. Knowing that I wanted to protect her and she really would rather feel the cold of the medicine than the sting of the needle (to give her the numbing shot) I tried to hold her still in my arms and hold the cotton ball with my lips. Well, my lips went numb and Esme is strong. I couldn't hold her. Her eyes were full of hate when I looked in them. I will never hold down my child again when she is scared and doesn't understand. I cried and tried to reason with her, but she still wouldn't cooperate. As the doctor passed our gurney I explained things to her and she said, "that's ok we'll hold her down and use a shot." Esme heard that and rampaged on. I cried and held her close and told her I loved her. I stroked her hair and hummed more hymns to her until she fell sleep.

Stitches: Around one am we were wheeled into room twelve. The doctor came in followed by two male nurses. They told me to get off the bed and they started wrapping Esme like a taco in the bed sheet. She started fighting before she was even awake. She just wanted to sleep! I stood back by the door and the nurses wrestled with her for five minutes before they could get her wrapped. Another woman nurse ran in saying, "here I am! Here I am!" And grabbed Esme's head. I didn't know I couldn't handle it and should've looked away. I saw the doctor take the longest needle I've seen and stick it into the gash and lift the skin with it. I think she was trying to make a bubble under the skin for the medicine. So, not only is she sticking a needle in my baby, she's using the needle to pull her skin away from her face. Esme started screaming and that's when I lost it. I ran to the opposite corner of the room where a curtain was hanging. I stood behind the curtain, began dry heaving, and screaming in my head, "why God!" Esme was screaming at the top of her lungs! Blood curdling screams that you only read about in books. Then they placed a shield over her face so all that was revealed was a small hole through which the doctor could see the gash. I buried my face back into the curtain as Esme started to really communicate with the doctor. I was so proud in that moment! My sobbing, heaving, and internal torture continued. The doctor looked at me and said, "Are you ok, Mom?" "I'm fine! I'm fine!" I was furious that she was thinking about me when I wanted her to take care of Esme.
"I'm scared! I'm scared! I'm super-duper scared!" Esme screamed. Over and over. The doctor (woman) talked back in a high-mother-like voice. "I'm nervous," Esme continued, "I've never done this before! I've very nervous! My legs, my legs! They super-duper hurt!" The doctor replied in her high pitch, "we have to hold your legs because you're kicking. You have to hold still so I can fix your face." I peeled my eyes away from the curtain and saw a full grown man laying across Esme's little legs. She was giving him a good ride, too! I told you she was strong. She screamed, "I don't care about my face! I care about my legs!" "If you'll stop kicking we'll let go of your legs, but if you start kicking we'll have to hold them down again." Esme was able to stop kicking, but she kept on screaming and shouting for the doctor to stop. The doctor tried to talk to Esme about tying shoes and that she was tying just like that. I don't know if the doctor was fast or slow, but the experience was way too long. Finally, Esme was done.

I threw the curtain to the side and ran to Esme. She practically leaped into my arms and squeezed my neck like a vice! I climbed on the bed and curled up with her. She quickly fell asleep again, this time from sheer physical exhaustion. I saw the nurses tidying the room with sweat pouring down their faces and mumbling about how they haven't been so tired after four stitches before.

We waited a little longer for paperwork to be done and I left her sleeping on the gurney while I ran to get Edward. He carried her out to the van and we brought her home. It was such a blessing to have Grandma & Grandpa take care of Alice & Renesmee. They brought us dinner in the waiting room and put the girls to bed.

Edward slept in Esme's room and Esme slept in our bed with me. I woke up each time she twitched or rolled over because I was afraid she'd feel the stitches in her cheek and be too asleep to realize she needed to leave them alone.

Now I understand what the Book of Mormon prophets meant when they said they couldn't write one hundredth of what happened. I cannot adequately express the horror or the trauma. There aren't words or time.

the miracles: There were several miracles about the experience. There are only two roads that lead out of town towards the hospital. Road one was completely blocked and is the road I wanted to take. Edward decided to take road two which was mostly blocked. But, because of the good old van we were able to muscle our way past the trees and branches. I'd prayed a lot that day, for help, for Esme's face, for help! In the waiting room each time I couldn't take it anymore and started sobbing more strength would come to me. When I'd held Esme until my arms were shaking Edward was able to hold her for a few minutes before the head nurse came and made him leave again. I took her back in my arms and was able to hold her in their view until they called us back. Esme was able to fall asleep and escape her fears for awhile. And, her face has healed beautifully! There is still a scar, but the doctor did a great job, and Esme healed in world record time.

a shock cord:

Notice how swollen her eye is. The swelling was completely down until I wrestled her trying to hold the cotton ball to it and the doctor stitched it.

w/o the band-aid (she just wanted the candle in the photo)

Poor thing!

my sweet girl!

12 days later

Isn't she beautiful?!

We are so blessed!

I love you, Esme!