An E.R. Christmas Story

There she was …seven years old, plain-faced, oily-haired, wearing simple clothes. She stood in the corner of the triage area as if to hide. Her face was worried, holding back tears. I’m sure she thought, "What did this big man calling out her name have in store for her?" I knew her name from the clipboard all visitors to our emergency room are asked to sign.

"Hi Kim," I started. "What’s wrong?" I knew by the bloody napkin wrapped around her little finger and carefully cupped by her free hand what was hurting, but I wanted to see if she would open up to me. She blurted out that she cut her hand in a car door and her sentence quickly gave way to loud sobbing tears. I gently took her hand and carefully, oh so carefully, removed the napkin. Underneath an ugly gash tore her flesh right below the cuticle of her finger and exposed the bone. It was a nasty cut for anyone and understandably unbearable for a seven year old.

I whisked her into the ER and although a relative brought her in, I needed to call her father for permission to treat her. I was happy to hear he was coming right over.

A pill shortly got her pain under control. As she waited her turn for the doctor, I watched this little girl begin to smile and feel more at ease. Her father was a big man and he looked to be a salt-of-the-earth kind of guy, simple and genuine. I instinctively liked him. My sense was that this ER visit was an expense he could ill afford, and yet he seemed to be the kind of man who took his debts seriously. I offered him dinner from the hospital, but he politely declined and later he brought from his car two shiny red apples and gave one to his daughter.

Several hours later the doctor finally was able to find time to mend this little girl’s finger. The most painful part of suturing is placing lidocaine under the surface of the tissue near the laceration. We draped off Kim’s little arm so she couldn’t see the doctor or her finger. I held her forearm to steady her hand; Dad held Kim’s upper body so she wouldn’t buck off the bed. In unison we braced Kim against the burn of the medication. A loud sobbing wail echoed through the ER, and despite our reassurances that everything was alright and how fine she was doing, tears welled up and poured out the corners of her eyes, raced down her temples and mingled with her hair.

When the doc thought he'd satisfactorily numbed her finger, he told Dad to give his daughter a big hug. I watched and my heart sank when the hug never came. Poor Dad struggled with the command. He looked at his daughter, stepped forward, hesitated and withdrew, maintaining his distance. My heart went out to this little waif with all those big tears so needing reassurance, and it also went out to Dad too who just missed one of life’s biggest opportunities to connect with his daughter whom I knew he truly loved. I wanted to pick her up and squeeze her myself but I fought off the urge, concerned I would make her father feel all the more uncomfortable. Instead poor little Kim lay there and waited for the next step in the procedure.

All went well for Kim’s little finger but I couldn’t get the experience out of mind. I look at this upcoming Christmas and I know some families are faced with the pressure of buying gifts they can’t afford for children they love. And in my mind the gift of Christmas is simply a reminder: do not miss the opportunity to show your love and appreciation to your children, your spouse, and your neighbor. If all we have to give is a big reassuring hug, a sincere kiss, or a helping hand my guess is all our lives would be more blessed by these gestures than by any gift. Love has always been the great equalizer readily available to all incomes and to all men no matter what their role in life’s big drama. Imagine if we were to gain no further understanding than this from Christmas how simple yet enriched our lives would become.