Parenting
Two years ago, my daughter Emma had just woken from her nap and was walking in front of me, her little skip bringing a smile to my face. I settled at our computer desk, adjacent to her brother’s room, when I heard a terrifying crash. In that instant, our lives were irrevocably altered.
When I rushed to the doorway, I saw the dresser tipped over, but no sign of Emma. Panic surged as I realized she was trapped beneath it. Despite having undergone significant back surgery recently, I managed to lift the dresser enough to free her head, but I was barely holding it up. I screamed for my husband, Jake, who responded instantly, throwing the dresser aside with incredible force. I watched in horror as Emma jerked and blood began to trickle from her left ear.
The feeling of despair was overwhelming as I spoke to the 911 operator, my mind racing with fear and anxiety. Help arrived quickly, and soon we were confronted with the grim decision of who would accompany Emma in the ambulance. Somehow, Jake decided I should go, and we sped toward the hospital.
Upon arrival at Dell Children’s Hospital, I felt detached, as if I were watching a scene unfold rather than participating in it. I witnessed doctors cutting Emma’s clothes off and struggled to communicate my identity as her mother, pleading for her safety. One doctor interrupted, “Mom, we’ll talk later.” My legs buckled beneath me, and I slumped into a chair, feeling utterly helpless. I had to call my parents—where was Jake? How could this be happening?
Emma had air trapped in her brain due to three skull fractures. The prognosis was cautiously optimistic, but we were informed that she might need surgery to repair a tear in the dura, the membrane surrounding her brain, as well as reconstruct her shattered orbital bones. A craniotomy would be necessary, involving an ear-to-ear incision on her skull. The neurosurgeon would safeguard her brain while the plastic surgeon handled her facial injuries. The thought of potential blindness or even death from infection was unbearable. I was devastated.
Now, two years later, Emma has made a miraculous recovery, but I am still grappling with the emotional scars from that day. The incident occurred because she was reaching for a Barbie doll atop a dresser that was not secured to the wall. After we returned home from the hospital, I found blood on the floor beneath that dresser. I kicked it in frustration, feeling an urge to transfer my pain onto the inanimate object. But deep down, I knew it was not the dresser’s fault; it was ours. A simple wall anchor could have spared us this trauma. Why didn’t we take that precaution?
As a parent, one of the greatest fears is the well-being of your child. You strive to protect them from harm, yet accidents can still occur, often beyond your control. Witnessing your child on a hospital bed, broken and in pain, is an experience no one can prepare for. The guilt of not securing that dresser was a heavy burden.
Emma’s recovery was remarkable—she amazed us with her resilience. After surgery, her swelling was minimal, and her bruises turned into makeshift eye makeup. The doctors had warned us she might look unrecognizable, yet it was still our sweet Emma, albeit with a new hairstyle and a “Princess Crown.” Every day, I thank the universe for her continued presence in my life. I am determined to spread awareness about the dangers of unsecured furniture. We were fortunate to have escaped a tragedy, but many families are not as lucky.
Did you know that a child is severely injured or even dies every two weeks from furniture tip-over accidents? This can happen to any family with young children. I urge everyone to secure their furniture to the wall—just as you would buckle your child into a seatbelt, installing safety straps can save lives. No family should endure what we went through.
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In summary, my daughter’s near-fatal accident serves as a powerful reminder of the importance of securing furniture in our homes. We were fortunate, but many families are at risk. Let’s take action to prevent such tragedies from occurring.