There are days that I fly up and down the wooden stairs in our house. Sometimes I pause and think how awful it would be if I fell and was seriously injured while Hannah was home. How long would it be before someone would find me? Should we install a panic button so Hannah can call for help? Would the dog even care? Even worse is the fear of falling while holding Hannah.

Unfortunately, last night this fear came true. Pete, his brother, and I just finished an awesome evening hike. Pete took the dog home to wash off the swamp water she walked through and I went to his parents’ house to pick up Hannah. I chatted with Grandma for a bit, got Hannah from the crib, and headed down the stairs.

Next thing I know, Hannah and I are bouncing down the steps. When we landed at the bottom Pete’s mom took Hannah so I could stand up and I saw the blood all over my shoulder where I had been holding Hannah. I grabbed my girl and rushed her into the bathroom. It looked like she bit a hole through lip. Grandma grabbed some washcloths, I popped Hannah in the carseat, and we rushed to the hospital. Hannah went between crying, screaming, and sleeping during the longest 6 mile drive of my life.

The women at the registration desk were incredibly efficient, and then everyone else seemed to be a heck of a lot less worried than Grandma and I were. It was obviously a busy night but in my mind nothing was as important as my little girl – who now looked like a victim in a horror movie. Hannah went in and out of sleep, with bouts of screaming whenever a nurse or doctor tried to touch her.  She finally calmed down after a Ketamine injection, had a CT scan (which came back fine), and then the PA stitched her lip up (with help from 2 more doses of Ketamine). The sweetest nurse cleaned all the blood off of Hannah’s face and hair and our little girl was finally recognizable again.

Throughout this whole ordeal I felt like the world’s worst mother. It was horrifying – way worse than the recovery days after Hannah’s heart surgery. This was my fault. I was furious at myself. If I had left my shoes on after the hike I wouldn’t have slipped. If I hadn’t been in such a rush to get home to eat leftover pizza I wouldn’t have slipped. After everything this kid has been through the last thing she needed was a late night trip to the ER thanks to her clumsy mother.

Then, for some reason, I got irrationally mad at the Universe and Down syndrome. I was mad that I understood every word the doctor was saying to me about Hannah’s treatment plan. I was mad that he asked me if I worked in the medical field – or if I just learned so much from being Hannah’s mom. I was mad that I knew people with Down syndrome burn through sedatives quickly and that I forgot to tell the PA. I was mad that people ever say “everything happens for a reason” because there’s no good reason for this to happen. I was mad that this awful, but normal, childhood accident isn’t Hannah’s first experience with sedatives and heart rate and oxygen monitors. I was mad that, once again, wires were snaking out of my baby’s jammies and we were cuddled up in a small hospital bed.

Hannah woke up this morning like nothing happened. We went to her year end show at daycare, picked up her precautionary antibiotics, then headed to the pediatrician. The doctor said the stitches look great but Hannah needs to take it easy for a few days. We also need to visit the dentist to see if her top teeth were damaged. I’m rockin’ a fractured sacrum and a wicked headache. But, we’ll all be okay.