And then we went to the Emergency Room…

…and I peeked into a world that no parent wants to visit. A world where my greatest fear stared me coldly in the eyes and let me know that yes, something bad can happen to my child. It’s a place I wanted to run from and never return to again, but ironically, was grateful existed.

Last Wednesday, Adeline almost bit her tongue off. Gruesome and dramatic sounding, right? She’s a high energy kid, as I’m sure you’ve picked up on, and was doing her usual move-every-part-of-her-body-as-fast-as-possible thing, spinning in circles in my parents’ kitchen. This is typical behavior for Addy, so no one batted an eye at it. But then she tripped. And her chin grazed a flower pot. And she clamped down on her tongue as her face hit the floor. Huge, mega tears ensued. We saw a bit of blood in her mouth and asked her to open up so we could see what happened. Blood poured out. Think vampire/zombie-raising-their-head-from-a-feast kind of oral blood spillage.

I believe “HolyshitJesusGod,” is what went through my mind. I locked eyes with my mom, who was holding Addy, and both of us said something along the lines of “Blah, blah, blah Emergency Room.” A flurry of action occurred. Crosby was thrust into the arms of a life-long family friend, Jenna, who happened to be visiting. “There’s breast milk in the freezer,” I said. “But no bottles. Shit!”

“We’ll be okay,” she said calmly. “Your dad can get a bottle on his way home. You take care of Addy.” In that moment, I couldn’t have been more thankful to have her there, someone I’ve known my entire life and who has loved children all of hers. I left Crosby with complete peace of mind and will forever be grateful to Jenna for so level-headedly taking care of my boy during such a stressful time.

We are blessed to live 45 minutes from one of the best pediatric hospitals in the world, and the local doctor my mom, Addy and I checked in with advised us to head for their ER stat. I dropped my mom at home and dashed off to meet Joey there. Adeline, who had been a super hero until then, started crying half way through the ride. When we hit bumper to bumper traffic, I almost started driving on the shoulder of the road to get her there. It was torture to see her in such pain.

As we walked in, I heard flight for life in the distance, and my heart acknowledged that this could be SO much worse, and I whispered my first thank you to the universe. The waiting room was packed. The receptionist told us this was their busiest week to date, with over 200 patients being admitted daily. Finally, we saw a triage nurse, who cajoled Addy into opening her mouth. I cringed at the deep, gaping wound. “Um…,” she said. “I’m going to go find the doctor.”

Turns out Addy had bitten through over 50 percent of her tongue, both down and across, which meant stitches were a must. The nurse explained we’d be moved to a room for surgery, where Addy would get an IV to deliver sedatives so the doctor could suture her tongue. I knew anesthesia always brings risks, and my heart rate picked up. “She won’t be totally out,” the nurse explained. “But she will be completely unaware of what is happening and will have no memory of it. We’ll be giving her ketamine, which is called Special K on the street.”

Whoa, whoa, whoa. You’re giving my child street drugs???!!!

“Well, that’s not what it’s intended for, but some people use it that way. It was created for veterinarians to give to horses.”

So you’re giving my 25 lb, 2-year-old human a drug for horses???

I was reassured it was completely safe and was a preferred sedative for children because it wears off quickly. At that point, I realized I needed to trust the doctors for the benefit of my little girl. Also, after hours away from a baby or a breast pump, my boobs had started leaking, and that distracted me slightly. I hadn’t factored in my milk-filled boobs when I rushed to the ER with Addy.

I started asking if I could rent a breast pump because mine was really far away. Every nurse responded by staring at my boobs and saying, “I’ll see what I can do.”

I stayed by Addy’s side as they inserted the IV and connected her to what seemed to be dozens of machines. Seeing my baby girl get hooked up to an IV and attached to a zillion monitors and cords was awful. I will never forget the sight of her little body laying there covered in all that.

They set her up with a Barbie movie, and she seemed content. Let me take a moment to point out what a tough kid I have. Addy was a rock star through the whole thing, sticking her damaged tongue out for multiple doctors and nurses, holding back tears and even talking and playing throughout the ordeal. At the age of 2, she’s got more guts and bigger balls than I do at 33.

I settled into a chair in the corner and hooked up to the rental pump from the maternity ward of the hospital with my nursing cover. I had to pour what I pumped into urine sample containers because they were the only sterile containers the nurses could find.

At this point, I felt nervous yet confident that Addy’s procedure would be simple and everything would be fine. But things got scary pretty quick.

Once the sedative kicked in, the doctor used what looked like a large fishing hook attached to a long string to pull Addy’s tongue out so he and another doctor could suture the wound. Blood poured out of her mouth, and a resident tried to keep up with suctioning it up. Although Addy was more or less unconscious, her body was not, and it fought against the fluid filling her throat. We could hear her gurgling, noises that dug into my chest and tore out my heart. And then an alarm on one of the monitors went off. I saw the calm demeanor of the doctors change. Addy’s oxygen levels were dropping. They had been at 100 and were now at 83. The doctors stopped what they were doing and placed an oxygen bag over her mouth. I started praying and praying and praying, as the notion that this could go badly slammed into me. As the doctor pumped the bag, he looked at me, my face covered in tears, and said, “It’s going to be okay, Mom.” And it was. Addy’s oxygen levels returned to normal, and while her body continued to fight against what was happening, the procedure was over quickly. And I thanked the universe, God and everyone for taking care of my baby girl.

It took about 45 minutes for Addy to come out of sedation, and seeing that lightened the mood. Imagine what a crazy stoned 2-year-old would do. She was soooo spaced out.

Almost a week has passed since that day. Addy is recovering amazingly well and as always, is blowing my mind with her ability to adapt and power through. The poor kid can only eat soft foods, and is desperate for something crunchy. Even the fun of eating Popsicles and ice cream has worn off. It’s obvious that she’s hungry and frustrated, but she’s hanging in there. I’m hoping in another 5 to 7 days, she’ll get some texture back in her diet.

As for us, this was the worst experience of our  lives so far, and I have added it to my (slowly) growing collection of Mommy Guilt. But, as I was reminded over and over again as we sat in a pediatric ER, seeing kids and families who were struggling with so much more, we are so lucky that nothing more serious had occurred. And I thanked the universe again for being so blessed, as I will continue to do on a regular basis.

Addy continues to spin around and jump and run and be careless with her body and oblivious to consequences, as 2-year-olds are. My heart jumps every time I see this and we’re working really hard at teaching her to slow down a little. But even in the womb, this girl loved to move. I know this is not Adeline’s last injury, but I am hopeful it will be her worst.

• ← He eats
• The tongue saga continues →