We have a little bit of experience with broken hands.
About 4 years ago Blake broke a finger playing kickball in school. I think I've told you that I waited two weeks before getting it checked. Mainly because he continued to play baseball and wouldn't even take a Tylenol. Finally, though, some maternal instincts kicked in and we had a hand surgeon check it out, after a walk-in doctor said that it was broken but nothing could be done.
The hand surgeon immediately scheduled him for surgery during which he would insert two pins to put his bone back together.
I missed the mother of the year award by a mere hair that year.
The day before Blake was to return to surgery to have his pins removed, Kayla broke her thumb in a softball game.
This was an especially good day because Paul and I headed out in separate cars after her injury. While I turned right to head to the emergency room, he turned left to head to the airport so he could fly to London.
All the way to the emergency room Kayla complimented me on being such a good mother and "not letting this injury go for two weeks like you did Blake's...." I told her that there were indeed some positive things about being the youngest.
Like getting adequate medical care.
Kayla's injury was worse than Blake's but she, thankfully, did not need surgery.
As the doctor illustrated to me:
This bone is just crushed. Picture a Popsicle - the kind with two sticks that you break in half for your kids. Her bone has broken in half right down the middle just like that.
I can be showered with all the bodily fluids a kid can spew on me (from either end) but a broken bone makes me woozy.
The floor under me tilted just a little bit when I heard the good doctor's description.
Anyway, we were quite the talk of the hand surgeon's office as each of my kids came and went with a hand in a cast. I actually heard the nurses laughing at us during one visit.
That beautiful sculpture in his waiting room? We paid for that.
So all this to say that when Blake informed us last week that he actually broke the hand of a wrestling team mate during practice, I felt a strange sort of kinship with his mother. When Blake told us that Dr. Smith was his doctor, I felt even more connected. After all, we had fairly recently funded a new wing for Dr. Smith's office, so I felt confident that the poor kid was going to get adequate care.
Blake has asked that I pick up a gift card for his victim...I mean team mate. He said I could make him a card and he'd write a note.
I imagine the note will say something like "Dude, sorry I broke your hand."
I think a sentiment like that should protect us from any lawsuit.
4 comments:
Still cracking me up. And I teach kids and have seen my fair share of things unuterable in the girl's bathroom, but the whole popsicle/gone analogy made me a little sick too.
You just don't want to hear that regarding your child. The first year I taught, I had two students break their arms (one right, one left) falling from the same set of monkey bars on the playground. There was a new rule after that. . .no one in Miss Watts's class could even LOOK at the monkey bars for the rest of the school year.
Roxanne-
My friend's daughter broke BOTH arms jumping out of a swing one summer. It was the most pitiful sight I've seen with both her arms casted like that...
You are hilarious. I think the gift card thing is a very nice gesture. The perfect soothing balm for a broken bone.
When I was a kid, I was playing street baseball and it was my turn to bat. I didn't look behind me, but my swing connected with the forehead of my neighbor, causing him to need stitches. When he got home from the hospital, I knocked on his door with my "I'm sorry" present. Unfortunately, I was wearing my softball T-shirt at the time. That year our team name was "Sluggers".
Post a Comment