Monday, September 26, 2:30 AM. Amy.

Brewer came back about half an hour after I wrote the last entry. He had a huge gash on his head and blood all over his face. I thought, no, I cannot do this.

He was racing back from town with the oxygen when he smashed into a cow (not one of ours) that had escaped its pasture and strayed into the road. He must have passed out from the concussion. The truck ended up on the side of the road, fortunately upright and somehow still running. He put the cow out of its misery, then cleaned himself up a little and made it back home. I just finished doctoring him and putting him to bed. I bandaged his head as well as I could. He could really use stitches but I can’t deal with learning how to sew somebody’s face together at this time of night, along with everything else that’s happening.

Claire is stable, I think. We gave her the oxygen and it seemed to help her color. We tried the asthma inhaler again and she seemed to take it in. Her breathing sounded a little better. She opened her eyes a few times and even tried to smile.

God, don’t take her. How dare you take her?

I’ll let her sleep now. Her breathing sounds like somebody’s tearing pages out of a book, but at least it’s steady. I won’t sleep tonight. I’m checking on Brewer every five minutes too.