“Drama, you have to come to the hospital! Julio’s husky attacked Jellybean and we are at the ER. Her face is in bad shape.” My then best friend, Crazy B, breathed into the phone. GC and I had just arrived at the cabstand when we got the call.
I rushed to the hospital and they led me to her room. My beautiful little girl sat there on the gurney, her head wrapped in gauze, both her blue eyes peeking out at me. She wasn’t crying. Some kind soul gave her a coloring book and some crayons to entertain herself. I stepped closer to Jellybean and that’s when my heart froze.
The flesh along her jawline was gaped open, just hanging there, supported by the gauze. My beautiful child! Fear filled my body. I stifled my tears, plastered a smile on my face, and gave my daughter a big hug.
The doctor treating her met with me, assured me that he had the best plastic surgeon coming in to repair the damage. All he could repeat was how little she was, how pretty she was, and how it needed fixing right away.
The plastic surgeon arrived and scheduled for immediate surgery. As my little girl, my heart and soul, rolled into the stark white operating room, I lost it. Her eyes held no fear but I couldn’t shake mine.
The surgeon did a great job. She still has scars, but they are less noticeable. They are thin and neat. I thank God every day that she didn’t lose an eye or an ear and that the damage was repairable.
I struggle every day wondering if the scars contribute to her low self-esteem. I still struggle with the anger that it happened at all.
Why did no one ever do anything about the dog who tore my baby’s face apart?
And now, Scooby is four. He loves dogs of all sizes. My fear is getting quite a workout.
Today’s post is in response to Mama Kat’s prompt #5: Tell us about one of the scariest moments of your life.
