How my kid got her war wound

Not all stories start on a rainy day, mine actually started on a bright and sunny afternoon. I was at work on my latest manuscript (Alleria) and had just decided to work out my notes that I had been making while sitting in the sun. My milk white winter skin was starting to get that hint of strawberry tint, so I had to run for cover.

I was just forming a sentence in my head to jot down, when a soft knock on my door took me out of my thoughts. Immediately I rolled my eyes, because the knock sounded decidedly child-like. Either Elora was too lazy to walk around and come in through the back door, or some of her friends were here to pick her up (and she wasn’t in)

Reluctantly I opened the door and saw three giggling blond boys standing in front of me. The front one told me that Elora was ‘back there’ (as he pointed at the playground) and that she was hurt. I didn’t panic. My kid is always ‘hurt’. She has a pain threshold that is so low, you would lose sight of it in low cut grass. So I didn’t rush—this will haunt me forever—went upstairs to get my socks, grabbed my shoes and my keys and walked (not ran) over to her. I even stopped to ask one of her friends where she was.

A lady—I have no idea how old she was—came to tell me that Elora was hurt. I was laconic, because I thought she wasn’t that hurt. But the lady assured me she really was, sort of. Her Dutch was too poor for her to properly express herself, and her body language had no sense of urgency. I did speed up my step a little, though, but I was still unprepared for what I would find.

Elora was wailing when she saw me, and I asked her what was wrong. She was sitting on a bench, and I came in from the back, so I didn’t see her leg until I walked around it. When I saw her leg it felt as if the world came crashing around me. Her leg had a big gaping wound in it. Ripped flesh hung limply and I think I saw some torn fat tissue as well or something. I don’t know what I was looking at.
A metal rod had penetrated deep into her leg when she was paying with it while she was on the swing. I don't know the exact details, but I can do the math.

I need you to know something about me. I know you think that I’m probably really good with things like blood and gore—me being a horror writer and all—but I am probably the worst person for situations like this. I’m so squeamish that I was asked to quit an obligatory first aid course, because people were afraid I would faint. I can pass out looking at scary pictures of wounds…. Imagine what I am like when I see the real thing?

Can you picture it? Right? So, now you understand things did not go well in my head at that moment. I may have looked calm and collected on the outside, on the inside it was a completely different story. My thoughts were screwy and all over the place, and it felt like every thought I had needed to make its way through burning molasses. The first thought I had: call Daan. I looked at my phone, which I had luckily brought and tried to figure out how a telephone works. That’s how out of it I was.

Thank god Daan picked up right away. I don’t know what I would have done if he didn’t. I would have gone insane. I don’t remember the conversation I had with Daan, but somewhere along the line we decided he would call an ambulance, because I honestly couldn’t even remember the 112 (Dutch version of 911) number.

Everything was such a blur. I was near my house, but not near enough to go grab a towel without leaving Elora alone, and that was the last thing I wanted to do. I also couldn’t get Elora to my car. A) because she couldn’t walk and I couldn’t carry her safely and B) I could barely operate a phone, so I wasn’t fit to freaking drive…

I needed someone to be with me. I needed someone to tell me everything was going to be okay, and to be better at dealing with this than I was. I needed someone to be at their best for my kid, and I felt like I wasn’t. I felt as if I were failing at this. It was devastating. But there was no one who would come, and I had to ‘suck it up, buttercup’ because my girl needed me.

Daan told me to put something on the wound. A t-shirt or something else. He had called the doctor. I was wearing a dress, so I asked for Elora’s t-shirt, but she was freaking out. Daan told me that one of my socks would do. I had just put on clean socks, but it still felt wrong somehow. However, I did it. I can’t express how I felt pressing my sock against the wound. The level of fear I experienced. I have gone through a lot of trauma in my life, arguably much worse than this, but for some reason, when it’s your kid… the fear is just so much more terrible. I don’t think anything that has ever happened to me has scared me as much as seeing my kid hurt.

I had to touch a wound that I couldn’t even bear looking at it, but I did it. I sat there, like I walked straight out of a dada-ist novel, with my one sock on, pressing my sock to a wound and willing myself not to freaking pass out. Because I really was about to.

At one point a man walked by. I looked at him, and while my mind screamed ‘help me’, my mouth said nothing, and he just walked on. It was so stupid, but I didn’t know how to ask a stranger for help. I couldn’t even tell anyone what I needed from them.

Daan told me to keep Elora conscious. Because she might be going into shock. Finally I had a purpose, and something in my head sort of clicked (still slowly, I didn’t get to sanity until later). I talked to Elora, who was deadly pale and had her eyes closed. Seeing her like that was another wave of absolute terror for me. She was so scared and at first she didn’t even want to go to the hospital.

A little back story about Elora. She’s terrified of hospitals and doctors. It was so bad that she even has had therapy for it, because she would get enormous panic attacks whenever someone in a white coat would even talk to her. Things are better now, but she’s still scared, and that day she was in utter panic again.

I managed to calm her down, and when we heard the sound of the ambulance, it actually felt like a relief. Someone was coming to help. Other than a very nosy 5 year old, everyone had stayed far away from us so far. Even the adult lady had disappeared as soon as I had reached Elora. I was a bit pissed at her in hindsight, because she should have stayed with my kid, not left her sitting there alone with a big gaping wound.

The ambulance lady was very nice. She talked to Elora and asked us a bunch of questions. She also said that she wanted to get her out of the burning sun. I felt like such a tool, because I hadn’t even considered that… (I hadn’t even realized that I myself was burning, and was starting to go from a hint of strawberry to lobster red)

I didn’t take any pictures of Elora being hoisted into the ambulance, even though in hindsight I think she would have liked to have those. I just couldn’t do stuff like that, not then. I just couldn’t. All I could do was follow and be close to my kid.

It wasn’t until we hit the hospital that my focus was really clear, because when we reached there, that’s when Elora’s panic took full flight. Funny enough she was actually more freaked out by the hospital than by sitting in that playground. But now that I knew she would be okay, and someone was going to fix that awful wound, I came out of my own zombie mode and shifted into mommy mode. I got my kid out of her panic, and I helped her with her fears. By that time I really needed to go to the bathroom, but I refused to leave Elora’s side.

The doctors were good, but for her they were the worst. Especially the main doctor, who sent Elora into an anxiety attack. Of course he was a ‘muslim’ doctor, so that made it even more awkward having her freak out like that. I almost wanted to say ‘this isn’t racism, you are seriously scary looking’. He was a really serious man, with deep black circles around his eyes which made him look even more stern. For an 11 year old with a doctor phobia, a man with the charisma of a sharp stone, was the worst thing to encounter. He had zero sense of humor, but he was a good doctor, and that was all I cared about.

We talked and we even laughed together a few times. I almost had forgotten how strong our bond really is, with all this puberty malarkey. But it’s strong and we completely clicked together. She was less scared and made some super brave decisions. My kid pushed herself past her fears and I was so incredibly proud of her. She kept asking me if I thought she was brave, and I told her I thought she was the bravest.

She needed to get injections—which is something Elora does not deal with gracefully—and it was tough getting her through that. The nurse wasn’t the most gentle person on earth, which didn’t help with my little snowflakes fears. I kept telling Elora to focus on me, and I would try to talk about any subject to distract her. Oddly enough I found that talking about baking cakes worked the best. She was weirdly fascinated by talk of baking.

I didn’t realize I had been there for hours, I was too focused on Elora, it didn’t even feel like we were waiting. My mom and dad came to the hospital and it was lovely to see familiar faces. Especially for Elora, who needed the attention and the love at that moment.

Right before they were going to ‘put her under’ Daan arrived. At that moment I kinda broke down and I cried. I still had to go to the toilet, but I waited until Elora was asleep. At that point all the stress hit me, and I sort of hated the world. Up until I got a text from Daan that she was awake and I could come back.

Elora was so brave and she really got though it all like a real trooper. I kept telling her how proud I was. Despite all the trauma, we had some really beautiful moments together, that I will always treasure. It was wonderful when we got to go home, and at that point I was so grateful for Daan and my parents. I could now just sit back and crash a little.

She slept in our bed that night, and I kept watch over her. It’s rare for her to sleep in our bed, even when she was little. It was too hot and uncomfortable, but I was grateful for her presence. I needed her as much as she needed me. She woke up several times, needing drink and medicine. At 2 am she told me she couldn’t sleep anymore. We listened to the Harry Potter audiobook together until about 3 am. Then I took my phone (which has the audible app) from her chest as she slept. I barely slept that night, and it wasn’t until the next day that I felt absolutely miserable about everything. I didn’t want to show Elora, because I firmly believe that after a really shitty day, you should have a fantastic one. So we spoiled her rotten.

Elora wanted to go to school herself that day. There was a celebration at school that she wanted to attend, and she didn’t mind the attention she got either. So things were good for her. And I am thankful for that.

To me it was like living through my own personal horror film. It’s giving me nightmares still. Last night I was even sleepwalking, looking for Elora who I had lost. I haven’t done this since she was a baby. It hit me hard seeing my kid like this. But we survived and we have a scary story to tell. That makes us blessed.