Trauma Response Team

Once upon a time, Pixie required a major surgery involving a week's stay far from home to correct a fast-progressing scoliosis.  I feared I had myself caused the incorrect curvature of her spine when I caught her as she turned from a dewdrop into a tiny baby pixie (an act which stunts the normal sprouting of a pixie's wings).  http://chevroletmama.blogspot.com/2012/09/dewdrop-in-september.html  My burning guilt and shame over the possibility of having caused such torment to my very own mythological creature, however, were drowned out by the swift action of our local Trauma Response Team.
Santa Claussen sold a limb to buy fuel for our GasGuzzler to make the trip.
My sister-in-law Lovesme built a hospital wing for the occasion, including an ice cream parlor for patients' family members.
My sister-in-law Hatesme published an op-ed piece detailing my failures as a parent of mythologics.
My uncle sent a lifetime supply of movies for Pixie to watch during convalescence along with a bag of trinkets from Grandad, and two months of weekly sixteen-ounce caramel mochas for me.
Great Grampa and Great Gramma sent Pixie a stuffie Burden Bear with its own little quilt and a poem to keep Pixie company whilst she recovered.  They even mailed her a card by United States Postal Service.  So did Pixie's Gramps.
Hunneypunkin's Dad and Momma gave Pixie books and posters with pigmentous articles with which to color them, watched over Angel Doll, Lefty, and The Precious while I didn't sleep at the hospital.  They cooked dinner for the family, and delivered us brand new major appliances.
The Besties outfitted Pixie with fuzzy jams and softy socks, balloons and bears, puzzles and toys, Erin Hunter books, Lego loads, and a two-day in-hospital visit from Pixie's Pal.
Our Nice Church Ladies sent us dinner the night we returned home, along with a gift and a card, and Sweet Church Girl made an ornament for Pixie in Pixie's favorite color.
The Neighborlies deposited a hospital bed in our living room for the six-month rehabilitation.
The on-call surgeon helped me by phone at midnight on Christmas when Pixie allergically reacted.
Friends cooked pasta in my kitchen and sat around the hospital bed to play cards with Pixie while I measured prescription medications.  My mom took over as medication measurer when I had to go to work.
Hunneypunkin's Huntingbuddy offered to compare his heart surgery scars with Pixie's back surgery scars.  (Pixie declined.)
Jeremy Renner showed up at the theater in The Bourne Legacy so I'd have something to take my mind off Pixie's plight.
A year later, you couldn't tell at a glance that Pixie has been surgicalled, and I still haven't caught up on the sleeping I didn't during the hospital week and the recovery month and a half.  If you ever find yourself in such a sitch, I hope your local Trauma Response Team rocks like ours.