A Case of Mistaken Identity

we are calling it. Ellie's facial dog bite, that is. We were celebrating Becky's birthday Sunday in Springville. Everyone was outside enjoying the nice spring weather. Eleanor was playing ball with Maggie, the black cocker spaniel. From what we've pieced together the dog went for the toy, missed the toy and latched on to Eleanor's face. I didn't see it, but was told the dog was hanging from her face for a few seconds. Yuck! It was immediately apparent that Eleanor would need stitches, so I whisked her up and drove to Utah Valley in Provo. After waiting there for a few hours, we were only getting bumped further back in the triage line as critically ill people kept flowing into the Emergency Room. Knowing all we needed was a plastic surgeon to repair her facial lacerations, we called Lakeview hospital in Bountiful. They said that things were pretty quiet there and that there was indeed a plastic surgeon on-call. We left UVRMC and travelled to Lakeview. After being triaged there, we were told that the plastic surgeon (Dr. Cheng, for the record--don't ever go see her!) was refusing to come in and treat Ellie. We were told our options were to have the present ER staff place the sutures or leave and go to Primary Children's. At this point it had been several hours post-bite and Jake and I were concerned about the growing risk of infection. While we wanted the best aesthetic outcome, we knew an infected wound would be worse than anything. We had the ER doctor close the wound. He used very fine suture and placed four stitches. So far the wound is healing well. I am still worried about the final aesthetic outcome. No signs of infection yet, which is a BIG relief. I have been slathering on topical antibiotics multiple times daily and she is on oral antibiotics as well. Here is the evidence of a very bad case of mistaken identity.
These pictures were taken today, about 72 hours later.



Poor Ellie. She was very brave and even when they were injecting directly into the wound with lidocaine, she tried to hold still. Tears rolling down her face, little body trembling, she didn't jerk away. She just said, "Owie, owie, owie" (Who does that remind you of, family?) and "It weally huwts!" She even seems to have forgiven the dog. Directly after the procedure I told her she could choose a toy for being so brave. After scouring the toy aisle, she honed in on one toy. I about died at her choice, but she insisted. A black, furry, floppy-eared dog. Ironic, anyone?