Ayla Strong
The day I left for Turkey, I called my mom in the morning to say good-bye. We said our "I love yous" and she reminded me in her Italian mother tone to "watch those kids." Traveling overseas with young kids is always a challenge, especially at the airports when everyone is beyond their wits and there's a million people around. In Turkey, extra caution is necessary even for trivial activities like crossing a street because, well, nobody pays attention to the pedestrians.
Last Saturday afternoon the kids were playing in the back yard at the Cesme house when I heard my daughter Ayla scream. It was the kind of scream that pierced your gut with a feeling of dread. Before turning around, I knew instantly that something terrible occurred. I looked up the stairs and saw Ayla standing in the corner of the entrance with her tiny little thumb wedged in the hinge of the heavy iron gate. The next few moments spun in slow motion as I flew up the stairs to grab her, held her bloodied finger and screamed for help. As I released my grip from her hand to wash it in the sink, reams of blood flowed down exposing her bone and a huge gash under her nail. My husband grabbed her, wrapped her finger and fled in the car with his dad and brother to the hospital. I sat there dumbfounded. "What just happened?"
I thought, recoiling in horror as my mom's words echoed in my head.
The next few hours passed by painstakingly slow as I waited with my sister-in-law, mother-in-law and son for news. My husband took Ayla to the small public hospital in Cesme where the doctor cleaned the wound, put on a stint then recommended they drive an hour to Izmir to the bigger public hospital ER. Apparently, this hospital was not equipped to perform surgery. At this point, it was unclear what was going on as cell phones were ringing and messages where coming in bits and pieces. It's times like this when I am so thankful we live within a few miles of the best hospitals in the country. Too bad we were 5,000 miles away from them.
A few hours later they returned with the news. My daughter's finger was severely lacerated to the bone but nothing was broken. They stitched up the wound with the hope that the tissue will "re-attach" and she will regain some feeling. Several veins were broken. They put her on three medications: Augmentin (the universal antibiotic), Flagyl (antibiotic for skin infections) and Pedi-fen (heavy motrin with sleep aide). I guess lugging Benedryl and children's Motrin from home to remedy any potential malady over here was wishful thinking.
Today we went to the "poliklinik" at the Izmir public hospital for a follow-up visit with the plastic surgeon. We waited with about 30 others suffering from everything from nose jobs, missing limbs and cleft palates. My mom's words again swirled around in my head. After a two hour wait, we met with the doctor. Thankfully, her thumb was recovering well. The tip was pink and no signs of infection. We need to continue to keep it dry and monitor her sleep so she doesn't roll on it. We'll go back for another follow-up later this week. We had planned to get some second opinions today but decided it was unnecessary. My husband's brother even did some research on the surgeon and found out that he has good credentials and was trained at a prominent military hospital.
While I experienced a range of emotions over the last few days, my daughter has been a rock. She continually reminds me that the medicine will make the boo-boo better and warns her brother to make sure he does not squish his finger in the fence or else he will need a big band aide like hers. As parents we do our best to watch the kids. In some ways, I think our kids are really watching us, reassuring us that it's going to be all right.
Last Saturday afternoon the kids were playing in the back yard at the Cesme house when I heard my daughter Ayla scream. It was the kind of scream that pierced your gut with a feeling of dread. Before turning around, I knew instantly that something terrible occurred. I looked up the stairs and saw Ayla standing in the corner of the entrance with her tiny little thumb wedged in the hinge of the heavy iron gate. The next few moments spun in slow motion as I flew up the stairs to grab her, held her bloodied finger and screamed for help. As I released my grip from her hand to wash it in the sink, reams of blood flowed down exposing her bone and a huge gash under her nail. My husband grabbed her, wrapped her finger and fled in the car with his dad and brother to the hospital. I sat there dumbfounded. "What just happened?"I thought, recoiling in horror as my mom's words echoed in my head.
The next few hours passed by painstakingly slow as I waited with my sister-in-law, mother-in-law and son for news. My husband took Ayla to the small public hospital in Cesme where the doctor cleaned the wound, put on a stint then recommended they drive an hour to Izmir to the bigger public hospital ER. Apparently, this hospital was not equipped to perform surgery. At this point, it was unclear what was going on as cell phones were ringing and messages where coming in bits and pieces. It's times like this when I am so thankful we live within a few miles of the best hospitals in the country. Too bad we were 5,000 miles away from them.
A few hours later they returned with the news. My daughter's finger was severely lacerated to the bone but nothing was broken. They stitched up the wound with the hope that the tissue will "re-attach" and she will regain some feeling. Several veins were broken. They put her on three medications: Augmentin (the universal antibiotic), Flagyl (antibiotic for skin infections) and Pedi-fen (heavy motrin with sleep aide). I guess lugging Benedryl and children's Motrin from home to remedy any potential malady over here was wishful thinking.
Today we went to the "poliklinik" at the Izmir public hospital for a follow-up visit with the plastic surgeon. We waited with about 30 others suffering from everything from nose jobs, missing limbs and cleft palates. My mom's words again swirled around in my head. After a two hour wait, we met with the doctor. Thankfully, her thumb was recovering well. The tip was pink and no signs of infection. We need to continue to keep it dry and monitor her sleep so she doesn't roll on it. We'll go back for another follow-up later this week. We had planned to get some second opinions today but decided it was unnecessary. My husband's brother even did some research on the surgeon and found out that he has good credentials and was trained at a prominent military hospital.
While I experienced a range of emotions over the last few days, my daughter has been a rock. She continually reminds me that the medicine will make the boo-boo better and warns her brother to make sure he does not squish his finger in the fence or else he will need a big band aide like hers. As parents we do our best to watch the kids. In some ways, I think our kids are really watching us, reassuring us that it's going to be all right.
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