Stitches

There are sounds that no mama wants to hear from the next room:

Giggles.

A loud thump.

Then, silence.

Fortunately, my dad, the ER nurse, was in the room with Lydia when she pitched off our bed and into the window sill head first, so by the time I began to get nervous about that silence, he stood in the doorway with Lydia in his arms.

The next few hours had their share of unpleasant moments – for example, the one where Lydia pulled her hand away from her face, revealing that it, her forehead and left cheek were covered in blood – but they weren’t without a handful of mercies.

Mitch, my dad and my step-mom were all here when she fell, which meant that there were plenty of arms to hold both girls, enough heads present for at least one of us to be thinking clearly at all times, and two nurses able to peek at Lydia’s cut, announce, “Stitches,” and hustle us out the door to the doctor’s office.

Another mercy? The doctor’s office was open late. We didn’t have to go to the ER, a fact for which I am tremendously grateful.

And when I prayed for Lydia in the waiting room, asking God to give her strength and a peaceful spirit, he heard me and answered tenfold: the sweet girl fell asleep on the exam table as the doctor placed the last two of her five stitches.

The next day, when I asked Lydia what she was thankful for, she answered with a blessing that I had overlooked: her sparkly Band-Aid.

I can see the sense in that. If you have to have to wear a Band-Aid on your face for a week, wouldn’t you want to wear a pretty one?

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