A Lesson in Forgiveness--from a 3 year old

The third and final part of Caroline's trauma trilogy took place in May of 2004--21 months after she lost her pinky.  (The pinky accident took place 21 months after the skull fractures--we held our breath throughout February 2006, but it came and went and eventually we exhaled..)

This particular Sunday evening we packed a picnic dinner, loaded the four children into their four carseats/boosters, and headed down to the Three Rivers Art Festivals to hear music and enjoy the finally warm weather.  We ate and then decided to walk around a little bit to see the booths--read walk around and listen to the children beg for face painting and balloons and cotton candy.  As we were walking we passed a man with a golden retriever.  The children all asked, as we had taught them to do,  if they could pet him and he said yes.  As we made our way back to our blanket we saw the man was sitting less than 20 feet from us.  Caroline asked if she could sit by the dog and pet him.  The man said yes--the other children were right around there and everyone was in our sight.

The concert ended; Chris went to gather the children, and I began to pack up.  The next few minutes are seared into my memory.  I was leaning down picking up the basket, as my head came up I heard screaming and saw three of the children running towards me.  William was screaming, "blood, blood, blood" over and over; Sarah Katherine's face was pale white, and Christopher grabbed my hand and said, "Run!"  I had no idea what had happened but I took off running covering the 20 feet in lightning speed.  As I approached I could hear Caroline screaming, "Mommy" and I saw her in Chris' arms.  What I couldn't see was any of her face--not one feature there was so much blood.  As Chris handed her to me he began saying, "I don't think it's that bad; remember head wounds bleed a lot.  It was the dog--he lunged at her when she stood up."

The next 20 minutes were frantic but also a testimony to the goodness and care of people--of strangers.  A young college kid whipped off his t-shirt and we wrapped it literally over Caroline's head.  He and his friends then took the boys about 50 yards away and started throwing the football with them, engaging them in conversation, keeping them from seeing the chaos.   A young woman took Sarah Katherine's hand and they went to regather the dropped picnic supplies the woman talking to SK the entire time--asking her about music and anything else.  A security guard appeared; he looked at Caroline's head and immediately radioed for an ambulance.  Four very large burly men, and I'll admit it men who looked like people I wouldn't want to meet in a dark alley, surrounded the man with the dog.  The man still hadn't said a word; he never to this day has spoken to us, but he had tried to walk off.  These men were having none of it.  Chris and I desperately tried to stop the bleeding but it wasn't working.  I still hadn't seen my baby's face; every time I wiped away blood, more poured forth.

As we were waiting for the ambulance I called my good friend Nicole Kitchen--I got the words out, "I need help with the children; Caroline's hurt"  She immediately responded, "I'll meet you at Children's--"  The EMT's radioed back that because of where we were they couldn't get any closer and asked if we could begin walking towards an open field.  The entire group of people I have mentioned, minus the four burly men still surrounding the dog, began the walk towards the ambulance.  It felt like a procession; it now feels like a holy procession.  For the third time I was loaded into the ambulance holding my child; as the doors closed I saw the faces of all those whose names I didn't know but through whom the love of God had been extended.  I never saw them again; I never thanked them; I hope they know.

We arrived at the hospital and were immediately put into a room.  Several doctors rushed in and began examining Caroline and talking amongst themselves.  "I see her skull"  "Not sure if she's lost part of her nose."  I stood there shaking and praying.  I wanted to hear what they were saying, and yet I didn't really want to know.  I looked at the nurse and asked, "Is Dr. Saladino here?"  "No," she responded, "He's off today."  They got the bleeding stopped and put temporary bandages on her.  About this time Chris and the children walked in.  Following them was our friend the security guard who always stands at the parking garage doors.  We knew him well--always brought him hot chocolate during the winter.  After the children saw Caroline and were assured that she was not going to die, the guard took the children back to wait for Mrs. Kitchen.  I heard these words again, "I'm not supposed to do this, but yous both need to be hear with this angel. I'll take care of these urchins."  (Yous is not a typo :))

As the children left a young doctor walked in and explained that they were going to have to sew her up but in layers because of the extent of the injuries.  He asked when she had last eaten and we said within the last hour--ugh--that meant we had to wait some time because they were going to need to put her to sleep.  I looked at the young man and it hit me, he was a resident or an intern--and so I said, "Excuse me, are you a resident?"  "Yes, a third year," he responded.  I hope I said the following kindly, but I can't promise that, "Sir, I know you're training.  I'm sure you're very good.  But I'm going to have to ask you to call for a plastics attending.  You are not touching her.  You're going to have to learn on someone else."  (I probably shouldn't have added that last part.)  Just then the door opened and in walked a nurse with  Dr. Saladino.  He told the resident he would take over and the young man left.  Dr. Saladino said to us, "Just a minute" and he stepped out.  I heard him say, "She doesn't mean to be rude.  Her father is the head of a children's hospital.  She probably knows you've been on for hours."  (To be honest I didn't care if he'd been on for hours or at just arrived--I was still asking for an experienced attending.  But he didn't have to know that.)  The nurse told Chris and me that Dr. Saladino happened to stop by on his way home from the very same concert to sign a chart.  Someone told him a family asked for him; he asked who it was and then immediately called his wife and said he wouldn't be home.  We love that man!!!

We waited for what seemed an endless amount of time for her to be prepared for surgery, thank goodness they gave Caroline lots of pain medicine.  The police showed up to take the report.  They told us that they had taken the dog into custody because he had no shot tags and they would run tests and let us know.  Chris asked what would happen to the dog.  The officer couldn't look him in the eye.  "Chances are he will be returned to his owner."  An intense rage flashed across Chris' face and he said, "I'll kill that dog with my bare hands" as he walked out of the room to compose himself.  I stood there with the officer, staring down at our child and he said, "I would too.  I'm so sorry m'am."

Eventually Caroline was sewn up--86 stitches in her forehead and 7 in her nose.  We were released around 4:30 am.  God love Nicole who kept our other three all night AND got SK to school the next morning in time for her talent show--dressed in full costume.  Chris stayed home with Caroline and I went to watch--102 elementary acts!  A woman I semi-knew said, "You look exhausted--fun weekend?"  I couldn't even respond.

Within two days I realized that things were not going well for Caroline.  Despite the antibiotics that she was on the incision was oozing and red.  Wednesday morning, the first morning of summer vacation, I knew she had to go back to the hospital.  Chris had already left for work so I loaded up the four children and headed back to Children's.  We were admitted immediately and IV antibiotics were started.  The doctor explained that she would most likely need at least 5 days of them.  Five more days in the hospital and now no school to help with the children.  It didn't matter.  Word had spread and people were ringing our phone off the hook wanting to bring us food, visit Caroline and take the other children.  Caroline's preschool class made sure that at least one person came to visit and brought her a gift everyday.  Her bed is still covered with the stuffed animals she received.  Chris' co-workers, the COT, took over his work so he could work with lawyers, (we didn't know if we were going to need additional funds for future surgeries--this was a very uncomfortable time for us and difficult decisions; this was the first time Chris and I prayed aloud together for guidance.  It came through the voices and advice of my father and Dr. Saladino.  "This isn't about you and being nice.  This is about protecting Caroline and providing for her future needs.  When doctors recommend hiring a lawyer--seems like Divine intervention and we decided it was the thing to do. We called one of our friends from church who was a lawyer.  He said he'd take it but he wanted us to have the best, so he got Chris into "the office of the best in town" for these type of cases.)   On the day of their son's graduation and graduation party the Woodyard's took the other three to the pool and then brought them home with trays of shrimp--we'd been invited to the party and the shrimp were bought knowing we'd be there.  Miss Pat spent hours reading to Caroline before she left on Saturday to lead the youth mission trip.  Angels surrounded us.

We were discharged very late Saturday night.  Sunday morning Chris and I were watching TV having decided that God understood that we simply couldn't get all the children up and to church. Our bodies hurt we were so exhausted.  I have to admit I was also worried about taking Caroline out in public.  She looked really bad--double black eyes, swollen face--guess I didn't really learn about that vanity stuff.  As I was sipping my second cup of coffee Caroline walked into the room and said, "When are we leaving for church?"  "We're going to take this Sunday off" I responded.  "NO!!" she screamed.  "It's Sunday, we have to go."  I looked over at Chris and we exchanged the what do we do now look.  "I'll go I said but let the other children sleep.  I'll just take Caroline." "You do realize," said Chris, "Church starts in 20 minutes."  No shower--throw on clothes--and off we go.

Caroline went to children's chapel and I sat in the church way back in the corner of the nave--a long distance from the front pew where we usually sat. I sat and I cried.  I felt so overwhelmed, so tired, and yet so thankful.  I worried about the scarring and I yelled at God in my head--how many physical "deformities" does this child have to endure?  At the peace Caroline came skipping into the church, mary janes clicking on the stone floor, and for the first time she found me and not her beloved Miss Janie.  She climbed up in my lap and brushed away my tears and then settled in.  As we were leaving church Kelly, one of the children's chapel volunteers, stopped me.

"I have to tell you something," she said as she squeezed my hand.  Caroline had run off for her doughnut as she did every Sunday.  Children's chapel at St. Paul's was amazing.  They basically followed exactly what we were doing in church but it was very interactive.  Kelly said, "During the prayers Caroline had a special request--she asked that her mommy and daddy learn how to forgive the man and the dog and not be mad anymore.  Tears began streaming down my face--there's more said Kelly.  She also asked that God let the dog know that she was okay and that she knew he didn't mean to hurt her.  She didn't want the dog to be sad and she knew he was sorry.  A lesson in forgiveness--a lesson I needed and that I struggle to remember.