After we moved in with Avanelle our lives improved considerably. Both financially and socially. Avanelle and I had always been close. Her sister, Phyllis, and I were inseparable as kids and Avanelle was always close by. As we got older, Avanelle and I became closer. So, this was perfect. It was like living with a sister. We got along perfectly. Her kids loved mine and vice versa. I didn't have to worry about baby-sitters, because Avanelle volunteered to keep them since she was home anyway....at first. After a few months, she went to work at Ford Motor Company on the afternoon shift. She kept the kids during the day, we had a baby-sitter from 3 to 5...and I was home with them in the evenings.
I had an hour for lunch, and got in the habit of running home at lunch time...it was just five minutes from my office. One day...a Thursday...Avanelle and I were sitting in the kitchen eating lunch when we heard a blood-curdling scream from Buddy. We both ran...and found him dangling in the wringer washing machine with his arm through the wringer upto his shoulder. I quickly unplugged the wringer...and Avanelle...with unusual super-human strength, pulled the wringers apart while I pulled his arm out. I rushed him to the ER. The doctors said it appeared to just be badly bruised.
When I went home for lunch the next day, Buddy complained about his arm hurting...but seemed ok. About 3, Avanelle called me at work and said he was running a high temperature. I called our doctor and he said to take him to the ER right away. Which I did...and he was admitted to the hospital with an infection in his arm.
On Saturday, the specialist my doctor had called in....told me he was in critical condition and most likely would lose his arm. He ...the specialist...talked to me several times that day, and had me sign forms for amputation. Then, the hospital said, since Mark and I were still married, they could not perform the surgery without his father's signature, also. I had tried to call Mark already without success. The hospital called the Red Cross and they, too were unable to get hold of him. In the meantime, the doctors were saying if they didn't amputate by Monday, it would be too late and Buddy probably would not make it. I was frantic. I didn't want him to lose his arm...but I sure didn't want him to die. The choice was easy.
Finally, early Sunday morning I got hold of the duty officer at Mark's base in California who happened to be a friend of Mark's. When I asked how I could get hold of Mark, he said Mark lived off base with his wife...and they were in Mexico for the weekend. I went berserk! I said I didn't know who he was living with....and didn't care...but I was his wife, living in Michigan...and had an emergency with his son. I demanded to speak with his Commander...but the duty officer wouldn't put me through, saying he'd take care of it...but he knew there was nothing they could do until Mark got home from Mexico late Sunday night.
Mark didn't get home from Mexico until late Monday Night....and contacted the Red Cross who had left messages for him. He did sign the papers and the red cross called the hospital. But, by then the crisis had passed. For a few days, it was touch and go as to whether Buddy would live or not. He had blood poisoning...but Thank God, he made it through. The skin...clear down to the bone, died in about a four inch square on his upper arm and the doctors took skin from his thigh and grafted it onto his arm. He was in the hospital a month.
I had a problem with the hospital. Back then, they thought parents were a nuisance. We had to observe visiting hours. I could go up at lunch time and feed Buddy...who was just four years old...and then go back from 5 to 8. Even when he was the sickest, in Intensive care...I couldn't stay with him. It was frustrating. The only phone we had was in the dining room....and on a short cord. I was afraid to go to bed, fearing I'd miss a call from the hospital. Avanelle and I took turns sleeping on a pallet on the dining room floor to be near the phone during the crisis episodes....the days waiting to find out if he'd live....and then the days following the graft surgery.
Believe me, I spent hours on my knees imploring God to let Buddy keep his arm..then to let him live. God, once again, proved faithful and Buddy came home nearly good as new....with a great big scar on his arm and thigh!
One thing stands out in my mind about Buddy's hospital stay. I was there one afternoon when they had to clean his arm. The nurse said it was very painful for him and would be helpful if I could hold him while she cleaned the sore. Bravely, I sat on the bed with Buddy in my arms...cuddling and kissing on him while she removed the bandage. He was screaming. I was crying. Then, I took one look at that open hole...and fainted dead away!! It was only the second time in my life I had fainted...and the other time was when Buddy was just a year old and had to get stitches in his face....where he had hit the back of the car seat on a sudden stop when another car ran a red light. He hit the seat hard enough it broke a spring...that split his cheek from his chin up to his eye socket...and then from his eyebrow to his hairline.
Anyway....the nurse called another nurse in to help her ...I was only out momentarily...and managed to again hold Buddy in my lap....being especially careful to keep my eyes everted from his arm! From then on, they never cleaned the sore when I was there.
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