What a Trooper

Thank you, thank you, thank you. For all the text messages, instant messages over MSN / ICQ / Yahoo and blog comments. I'm not lying when I say I almost lost my mind on the way to the hospital.
All I knew then was her hand was quite badly injured, and all these questions fill my mind. What if she can't use her hand? How is she going to heal, knowing how much she likes to hit / throw / swing stuff around? A million questions a minute, all waiting to be resolved when I finally see her before she goes under general anesthetic and gets stitched up.
I'll be honest and admit that who to blame and what to blame whomever for was quite at the forefront of my train of thought. I didn't know if I could forgive fast enough, or if I'd say something I'd regret later on when I got to the scene.
The first thing I saw when I got to the scene was
<img src="" width="400" height="300" alt="Still waving" class="img-center" />
Anne was walking around the whole emergency department, waving her good hand at whoever she met. The first word that came to mind was "undaunted". At 14 months, this girl was showing more spirit than I've possessed in a long time.
She'd even wave her bandaged hand.
<img src="" width="400" height="300" alt="Anne waving her bandaged hand" class="img-center" />
It was really unsettling to see her receive the anesthesia and go all glassy-eyed and limp. It was so scary to see all her energy, vibrance and fire tamed into an unnatural docility. Faith and I left the treatment room. I wasn't sure if I could take much more of seeing my girl lying there motionless with her eyes still open. The visual enactment of a primal unspoken fear was too real.
Here's Anne after getting her stitches, now sleeping from the effects of the anesthesia.
<img src="" width="400" height="300" alt="Anne sleeping after getting her stitches" class="img-center" />
We're home. Anne's sleeping. And we don't know how to get her to drink the horrible tasting antibiotics she's supposed to take.

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