Broken Nose, Unbroken Joy

I had been counting down the days for the Saturday my mom would babysit Sebastian so we could have a day to ourselves. If I had known what I was counting down to, I would’ve just canceled our kid-free day. When I dropped him off that morning at my parents’ house, I confirmed the pickup time for 3:45 in the afternoon. According to my dad, they had to get to church by four or the main doors would be locked. With a promise that I wouldn’t be late, I was out the door. Our plan for the day was to go to a card show at our local mall. Recently, my husband’s been into buying Pokémon cards from the 151 collection, something he swears millennial men his age are getting into. We reminisced about the times growing up seeing these card shows at the mall and how they drew a crowd. Walking into the mall that morning was not the time travel experience I expected. The mall was dead.

Once we reached the end of the walkway, we saw a couple of people around a table near the front of a department store. So, the card show was happening, but there wasn’t a huge buzz. There also weren’t any salespeople with Pokémon cards, only sports cards. Thankfully, there was one store in the mall devoted to Pokémon, and we checked that out. As we kept tabs on how much time we had left, I thought to ask my sister, who was at my parents’ house, if she could stay with Sebastian after they left, so we wouldn’t have to rush. We were thrilled when she agreed, and I quickly texted my mom letting her know. After we’d perused The PokeTrade Emporium in the mall enough, we left to visit a couple more Pokémon shops and then ate lunch. The timing worked out perfectly because we left the restaurant at 3:45 pm; my sister would only have to stay with Sebastian for fifteen more minutes. I was so happy we’d had such a fun day together because when you’re a parent, it’s hard to have time off. When you have a child with higher needs, your babysitting options are limited. Smiling, I opened my parents’ front door and was immediately confused by my mom’s appearance. My dad, as punctual as a clock, had made it clear they were leaving at a quarter to four. Before I could even finish asking my mom why they hadn’t left yet, she said the two words I fear the most: Sebastian fell.

I ran upstairs to the living room with Albert right on my heels. Sebastian, normally not a crier, sat on the couch with tears in his eyes, his nose bloody and swollen, his right cheek and eye also swollen and bruised. I lost my head. I even hate to relive it now, honestly. The fall had only happened a little bit before we arrived; my dad was bringing him inside from the deck. There’s a built-in bench on the deck that Sebastian loves to run back and forth on while holding his tablet. He’s always done this, but he’s bigger now. He’s seven, yet he’s the size of a 12-year-old. Falling off the bench and onto the deck floor, thankfully not made of cement, at his size, caused a major impact. I was so sure he’d broken his nose. As Albert silently examined his face and the huge bruise on his thigh, Sebastian allowed my mom to put an ice pack on his face. He even held it himself at times. That spoke volumes about how much pain he was in because he never tolerates that. I felt so sorry for him.

We took Sebastian to the emergency room, and by then, he was calm but looked terrible. From the time my mom said he had fallen, my mind was already racing with how hard it would be for him to get medical attention. When you have a kid with autism who is non-verbal, you’re thinking past the horrific injury (even though I was freaking out about his poor face). You’re nervous about how it’s going to go at the hospital. Will he let the doctor touch him and see how much damage was done? What about X-rays? How the hell would he sit for that? If his nose was broken, would he need surgery? If he needs surgery, what’s that going to look like? A couple of years ago, Sebastian had surgery to remove his tonsils. When he woke up from the anesthesia, he turned into baby Hulk. It took four nurses to help me hold him down. They had to administer more medication to calm him. That was a nightmare, but as I constantly remind myself, the staff were there to help me and were very understanding of the situation. Still, these emergencies make me the saddest about his diagnosis and the difficulty right now in communicating with him the importance of letting the doctor treat him.

We got past security and entered the emergency room. This would be Sebastian's second time going to the ER. I wrote about our first scary experience in Our First ER Trip. This injury was more painful, though. It was tough just getting him to let the nurse put his wristband on. We finally settled for placing it around his ankle. We left the triage room and walked him to the scale in the lobby, however,  Sebastian had other ideas. The exit door was enticingly close, and it was a challenge to redirect him. I knew he would’ve much rather gone home than stand still on a scale. What did he care to know how much he weighed? Oh, that we could all have that mentality! The nurses took pity on us and promptly ushered us behind the double doors. We were seen by a physician who asked if Sebastian had experienced any vomiting or unconsciousness. He had not. Was he acting normal? As Sebastian moved freely around the small room, trying to leave, I smiled. “Yup, he’s acting like himself.” He ruled out head trauma, something I hadn’t even considered, thinking only of a possible broken nose. Before there was even time to prepare, we had to take Sebastian down the hall for X-rays. It went as we expected. We pleaded with Sebastian to stay still by the mark, we gave him his tablet, we tried to take away his tablet, we chased after him, once we’d grab hold of him I asked the technician to be quick, she looked at me with a raised eyebrow that clearly said “As if it were that easy.” Then, we called it a day. Walking back to the room, I prayed there was one clear shot that would tell us if his nose was broken.

When the doctor came in, it was no surprise that the X-rays didn’t turn out great. “There was some motion,” she said. I stifled a laugh. She did think she saw a break, a small fracture, and recommended seeing a plastic surgeon in one week, as there was a two-week window for surgery if he needed repairs. I didn’t like the sound of that. With nothing more they could do for a broken nose, he was cleared to return to school on Monday. “But will his nose look the same as before?” I asked. “I don’t know. That’s why I recommend you call the plastic surgeon on Monday to schedule an appointment. They’ll be better able to tell you that.” I was annoyed, leaving the hospital more freaked out than when I came in. It seemed like no one but me was worried about his appearance. Suddenly, Monday felt like a holiday that wouldn’t come fast enough. I was anxious to get into the surgeon’s office before the end of the week. There was some back and forth with the nurse making the appointment for Wednesday, which was too soon considering the amount of swelling he has. Finally, we settled for first thing Friday morning, almost one week from the accident. That was perfect.

The appointment with the surgeon went really well. He was extremely kind and understanding of Sebastian, letting him do whatever he wanted, namely to touch every object within the four walls, as I attempted to stop him. He assured me I could relax; it seemed that the only annoying person in the room was me. The surgeon threw me off guard with his empathy when he said that my whole life must be about making sure Sebastian doesn’t get hurt. I nodded emphatically. It was a short appointment. He reviewed the X-ray from the ER and showed me where the small break in the bridge was. He wasn’t recommending surgery as the risks would outweigh the benefits. To examine the fracture deeper would require a CT scan. Sebastian wouldn’t tolerate that and would need to be sedated. Why put him through that, the surgeon rationalized, if we didn’t absolutely have to? I couldn’t help but still ask if his nose would be crooked. The surgeon threw the question back at me. “Do you think his nose looks crooked?” Well, that’s why I’m here, I thought, so you can tell me, but I looked at Sebastian’s cute nose. The swelling had gone down a lot since Saturday, but he was still badly bruised. He was completely purple under his right eye. I had to admit, his nose didn’t appear crooked. I knew everything would continue to look better once he wasn’t so puffy and the contusions cleared entirely. The surgeon even spoke about his experience breaking his nose three times and asked me if I could even tell he had. I really couldn’t. I walked away with a sigh of relief that we wouldn’t have to worry about surgery. He only needed time to heal.

5/22/25 Last day of Kindergarten celebration

Sebastian’s fall was a big lesson that he’s getting too big for certain things he could do before. Watching his movies and TV shows on his tablet is his safe place, and we just have to do an even better job at keeping his space safe. He started his second season of assisted horseback riding in April with a new instructor who’s been integrating his words with the lessons. He had a riding lesson the day before his appointment with the plastic surgeon. He’d been requesting “horse” on his tablet almost daily, which is so cool to see his interests expand, so we didn’t want to cancel. Of course, it was a shock for the instructor to see Sebastian’s face. She immediately told me about the time she broke her nose and how her face was green for a month. It was kind of nice to hear that this sort of injury was common and could happen to anyone. As the lesson proceeded, the instructor marveled again at something she’d noticed on her first day with Sebastian that struck me: he has a strong core and amazing balance. He doesn’t hold on to the reins (they’re working on it), so it’s just his strength and equilibrium that’s keeping him upright on the horse. I think those are really beautiful and admirable qualities in my 7-year-old. Something that amazed me after Sebastian hurt himself was that he didn’t lose his joy. In no time at all, he was laughing and smiling like his regular old self when I know he must’ve felt pain. It was a lesson that no matter how broken you might feel, you can’t let it break your spirit.

Have you ever had a scary moment with your child or a loved one? Leave a comment below!