Terror in the Grass

The good news is that Child Five does not have the measles and Child Four did not cut any tendons or ligaments.
It's been a busy week, hence my failure to get a post out in a timely fashion. For all those out there (my one loyal reader) who may be worried about what has happened, I'll explain now that I am not as frantic and flustered as I was.
Wednesday started out like a normal day. We had scripture study and breakfast, got chores done. Around 11 am we went to the park for lunch. The kids played after eating, Child Four and her friend running and sliding down a grassy hill near where we were sitting in the grass. Suddenly, Four's friend came running up and told me that Four had a cut and was crying. Thinking that it was just a little scrape, I sauntered casually over to comfort her, but when I got closer I realized something was dreadfully wrong with the cut. It was HUGE, the wound gaping open, blood seeping out of a deep slice that ran from her calf up around her knee, about seven inches. "You need to get to the hospital!" I cried as I picked her up and ran back to our picnic blanket. Setting her down, I ran over to the pavilion where many other families were eating their lunches. It was hard not to burst into tears and just lose it, but I yelled that I needed something -- a scarf, a string -- because my little girl was hurt. All the moms looked confused because I didn't say why I needed a string, but one mom handed me a toy dog leash and I grabbed it and ran back to Four, who was holding her knee and whimpering. I tied the leash around Four's thigh to stop the blood flow, which was not spurting, thank goodness.
Then my mind kind of shut off.
The woman who had lent me the leash ran after me and followed me to the van where I was carrying Four, intent on getting her to the hospital. She gently convinced me to let her call 9-1-1 rather than me driving Four to the emergency room. I looked at the wound again and shuddered as we waited for the paramedics to show up. Children Two, Five and Six were also with me, Two crying softly in agitation, Five worried but not old enough to be really scared, and Six (with some of Four's blood smeared on his forehead from my arm) was upset about being in a non-moving car.
The paramedics arrived and took over; three of them worked on bandaging Four's cuts (they found another, shorter gash on her thigh) and stop the bleeding and one trying to find what had cut her. Four's friend led him to the area where Four had been playing. After a very long time of searching (which finished after we had left the park for the hospital), the paramedic and some helpers found two pieces of glass, one quite large, embedded in the grass of the hill. They were both embedded in the ground so that enough of the glass stuck out at a 90 degree angle to cause serious damage but they were not easily visible. They only were found because of a lucky glint of the sun. I don't know if someone buried that glass deliberately. I sincerely hope not because the vengeful thoughts I have about someone who could do that are pretty vicious. What if it had been her belly or her neck, her face, her back? It could have killed her.
As it was, Four was extremely lucky. The cuts, though they are deep and long, were not deep enough to damage any tendons or ligaments. She did not lose a dangerous amount of blood, and she was a trooper through the whole hospital ordeal, which, like most emergency room visits, was long and boring with some really painful moments when the wounds were cleaned and she was stitched up. 34 stitches and a leg brace later, she is home and doing fine, except for having to endure her skin itching under the brace. That kept her up much of the night last night. It's hard to make her keep still and not move around a lot. She just wants to go about life as usual. But she is very angry at the thought that someone could have planted the glass. She keeps saying she wants to sue them, although I'm not sure she really understands what that means. Her dad said that if he ever found the person who put the glass there he would make sure they got plenty of stitches themselves.
I can't think about it too much. All the "what-ifs" march through my head, along with visuals, and I have to distract myself with something before I start hyperventilating. We've had crises before: asthma attacks, broken bones, food poisoning. They didn't seem as life-threatening, probably because I couldn't see them so well (except for when Oldest Child broke her arm. Ooog. That was hard to see. She didn't get a whole lot of joy out of it, either.) and I felt reasonably confident that we could deal with the problem satisfactorily. Even when Husband collapsed because of food poisoning, I didn't really feel worried that nothing could be done. He was okay after a trip to the hospital and some rehydrating (we don't eat at that restaurant anymore, though).
I don't need to explain to any mothers what it feels like to watch a child go through pain or terror. You want to take it away, take it on yourself if necessary, so your beautiful baby can be okay. I am so blessed. I have not lost any of my beautiful babies and their pains have been of the kind that are healed eventually. What a gaping hole in your life it must be to lose a child, a hole that never quite closes with time, and maybe not even with perspective. I know there is life after death, that I will see all my family again and that gives me great comfort and peace. But I am also so grateful that I have not had to rely on that knowledge to get me through a day or an hour, a moment, when all I want is that little hand in mine, that sweet voice calling me "Mommy."
Now I have myself in tears and am going to switch gears.
We went to the park for lunch yesterday (yes, we went back. I don't want any of us to be afraid of going there again, though we aren't running or playing on those hills anymore) and Five ate, but then he kind of flopped around languidly. Usually he wants to play on the playground, but yesterday he just put his head on my leg, then lay in the grass. When we got home he whined and complained and I noticed he had a fever. A friend called to see if he could play with her daughter and then hoped he didn't have measles. I thought that was kind of odd, to associate a fever with measles right away. This morning, however, I noticed Five had small red spots on his face, a runny nose and watery eyes, all symptoms of the measles. He also doesn't have all his vaccinations (a story I won't go into right now, but suffice to say that I'm not convinced that vaccinations are all that safe and harmless), so it was a legitimate concern.
All right, long story short (I can go on sometimes) I realized he is allergic to grass and he always gets spots from lying in the grass. His fever is gone, he's feeling much better. No measles.
Four gets her stitches out in 12 days and won't be taking swimming lessons this summer, most likely. She has to keep her leg out of the sun for a year to keep the scar from darkening badly, and I don't want her swimming too soon in case she splits the cut again.
How grateful I am that Heavenly Father was looking out for her, that her wounds are superficial and that I have my baby here with me.
My friend just got back from Girls' Camp and offered to "aromicate" my house for me (her word. I think it's quite elegant, really), but I declined. Thanks all the same. Sweat, smoke and dirt odors are good for outdoors. So, thanks, Friend, but I hope you enjoyed your shower!