Joshua had a bone spur in his skull that was pushing itself into the back of his left eyeball.
A team consisting of a neurosurgeon, ophthalmologist, and plastic surgeon spent almost eight hours, pulling his scalp back like the flap of a canvas knapsack, scoping, drilling, and sanding, all while avoiding damage to his eyesight and brain. After completing the procedure, they patched up torn tissue with dissolvable stitches, returned the scalp flap to its rightful place, and then punctured his head with thirty-four staples.
He and his wife, Carnation, laughed about the scar, which arched across the top of his head to behind his left ear, as the doctors said “Yes, the hair will grown back.” That was a relief.
“There is definitely no, um, brain damage?” Carnation quietly asked Doctor Happin, outside of Joshua’s room.
“None at all,” the doctor told her, with only a hint of pride. “He will be back to his old self in every way.”
Carnation touched her cheek. Only five weeks ago the whole side of her face was purple, her eye swollen shut, and her cheek fractured. She moved her hand to her wrist, which since being broken last winter still ached in the damp weather. There were fresh bruises on her upper arm, and near the tops of her thighs.
No scars, though.