Easter morning started out great. My asparagus quiche and pastries were a big hit.
After a late breakfast, I started the dough for our dinner rolls and then took my cup of coffee to the couch to relax for a bit before putting the ham in the oven. The kids were bored. The rain had not yet arrived and they were itching to be outside. Camille suggested taking a sledge hammer to the old shed over by the boys' pasture. It has been falling apart and Brett, in particular, hates it.
Brett gave the kids some instructions on proper demolition procedure and then went off with his weed whacker. Kyle, his girlfriend Ana, and Camille took turns smacking the shed. I watched them from the couch, sipping my coffee.
It didn't take long for the them to knock off the wood on the sides. The shed lurched, then swayed forward like a ballerina reaching for her toes, ending in a crumpled heap on the ground. I thought "cool" -- until I noticed Ana running, Kyle crawling out, and no Camille. I don't remember setting down my cup, or opening the side door, or running down the porch steps. But I must have because I found myself running, with my heart in my throat, on the grass towards them wearing my slippers. In the seconds it took me to reach them, Kyle and Ana had lifted the end that had, at one time, had the door just enough for Camille to crawl out. She was lying on the grass and there was blood on her face, down her neck and her arm. A lot of blood.
She was able to move her arms and legs for me. The blood was coming from a huge gash above her eye. Ana went running to get Brett (who was weed whacking with his back to us so he saw and heard nothing) while I knelt on the ground next to Camille. I wrapped my arms around her and held her like that, crying with relief that she was alive and fear for her eye.
I drove Camille to the nearest ER while she held a wet, bloody washcloth against the wound. She was fortunate, so fortunate. There was no concussion, no internal injuries and no broken bones. She had run far enough to be on the grass in front of the shed floor so was in a small space with protection. A nail had slashed her face badly, but otherwise she was okay. Her vision was, amazingly, still 20/20 in the eye.The wound was too complex for the ER to tackle.
We were sent to a trauma center an hour away and transferred into the care of an ENT specialist who was on call. He walked into the room, a small unassuming man. Camille and I looked at each other. He told us he loved doing embroidery while he was in med school; he loved to stitch. They prepped Camille, the doctor put on some magnifying goggles, and he got to work. He lost count of how many stitches it took to put Camille's skin back together -- at 50 stitches. She will have a scar, of course, but the top of the flap he sewed back into place follows her eyebrow. The bottom is in the crease of her eyelid. We don't think it will be very noticeable.
And she is in one piece. Amazingly, she is in one piece. We turned back into our driveway at 9pm. Kyle, Ana and Brett had made the Easter ham and potatoes -- and even salvaged my dough, making big asymmetrical rolls. They sent me text questions during the day (between Camille updates) on where to find recipes. They held the holiday together.
I expect we'll be talking about this Easter for a long time. While Camille was being embroidered by the doctor, he said "Someday, little children will hear the story of how Grandma Camille, when she was only 20 years old, escaped serious injury when a hay shed collapsed on her." I think he's right.