The accident

It happened in the blink of an eye. I got a phone call from my youngest son, Julian. His voice was trembling when he said, “Mom, please don’t get scared, but I had an accident on my e-bike.” The words every mother fears most. He had turned a corner too fast, hit a rock, and slammed face-first into a tree, going nearly 30 miles per hour. He had no idea how to control the bike yet. But he was wearing his helmet, and that helmet saved his life.

It had only been six days since he got the e-bike. I never wanted him to have it. My gut told me it wasn’t safe. But he’s a teenage boy, curious, determined, full of energy. He begged his Grandma, Dad, and Tía, and they asked if I’d be okay with it. My heart said no, but my mind told me I had to let him grow up and learn responsibility. I’m a self-proclaimed helicopter mom (and yes, I know it). I think a lot of that comes from my past, but that’s a story for another day.

When his dad went to pick him up, I didn’t think it was too bad. I still carry guilt for that. His braces had flipped into his gums, and the wire was twisted upward in a way I can’t even describe. He was bleeding nonstop from his entire mouth. I work in dermatology and see blood, sutures, and surgeries all the time. But when it’s your child, it’s completely different. I couldn’t even look at his wound without feeling my heart crumble.

He couldn’t see out of one eye, so we rushed to the ER. I thought maybe it was just a concussion. The doctor, sho is truly his angel, ordered a CT scan because he was having pain near his spleen. She said she just wanted to be cautious. When she came back, I could see it in her face before she said a word. “It’s not his spleen,” she said softly. “He has a grade-3 laceration to his liver. He’s bleeding internally. We need to transfer him to Children’s Hospital immediately.”

My world stopped. Everything blurred. My baby, my sweet, sleepy, medicated baby, was about to be taken away in an ambulance. Tears streamed down my face as I tried to keep calm so he wouldn’t see me scared. When the paramedics arrived with their heavy gear and gurney, it hit me: this was serious. They told me I had to ride in the front seat, away from him, in case they needed to stabilize him. I sat there silently sobbing, listening to him moan in pain, praying he’d hold on.

At Children’s Hospital, they rushed him straight to the PICU(the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit.) Doctors and nurses filled the room, speaking in acronyms I didn’t understand. One of them gently told me to sit in the corner chair. I had never been so terrified in my life. In that moment, I turned fully to God. I begged. I cried. I prayed like I never had before. I asked God to protect my baby, to send the right doctors and nurses! His angels sent to save him.

The surgeon explained that his blood count was dropping but didn’t want to operate yet. Everything in me wanted to scream, “Then fix him! Do something now!” But I had to trust. I had to surrender. Then the surgeon said something I’ll never forget: “The liver can repair itself.” It was the first time I could breathe. I didn’t know that before, but in that moment, I knew God had a plan. I felt peace in the middle of panic. My tears shifted from fear to gratitude.

For a few days, they drew his blood every hour. They watched and waited. Slowly, his counts started to rise. Forty-eight hours later, my strong boy woke up and spoke. He was weak, still in pain, but conscious. Every new test showed progress. He was healing, God was healing him. Every doctor and nurse who came in asked the same thing: “Was he wearing a helmet?” And every one of them said it was his helmet saved his life. Without it, this story would have ended differently.

Jeremiah 33:3 says, “Call to Me, and I will answer you, and show you great and mighty things, which you do not know.” Even when I had felt distant from God, He heard my cries that night. He never let go of Julian, or me. He held us both in the palm of his hands.

I don’t blame the bike. I don’t even blame my son. It was an accident, one that taught us both more than we could ever imagine. He still rides, and I still fight the fear every time he does. But I’m learning to trust. Trust in him. Trust in his growth. And most importantly, trust in God. Because when everything was out of my control, faith was all I had left. And faith was enough.

As a mother, I will never stop thanking God for the hands He sent to protect and heal my son. To every doctor, nurse, and first responder, you are doing God’s work in the flesh. And to every parent reading this: make sure your child wears their helmet—always. It can mean the difference between tragedy and a miracle. 

With love,

Prissy ✨