Mommihood isn’t for us criers…

I said this phrase the other day joking away tears after my son was crying due to pain from an injury on the football field.  Come to find out, it is us criers that make for the best and loudest advocates for our children.

Some back story…My oldest son broke his wrist Saturday afternoon playing football.  He was taken via ambulance to Albany Memorial.  I was not there at the hospital but I was told that his treatment consisted of x-rays, ice, Ibuprofen, splint and ace bandages.  He was not casted at the time as my husband was told that due to the nature of the injury that we will need to follow up with an Orthopaedic Surgeon.  Visions of surgical nightmares and a crippled wrist flooded my head.  I decided to do as instructed and see an orthopaedist on Monday.

Monday comes….

We send the boy to school as his biggest fear at the time was messing up his perfect attendance record he has had since day one of Kindergarten.  It still makes me smile to say that.  What a cool kid!  I called around till I found an office that would get him in right away versus the hours of waiting that others promised us (“No, nothing till 3:45”).  We picked our son up at school and whisked him away to CROG (Capital Region Orthopaedics Group) in Saratoga.  We met with Dr. G, the doctor with the availability and the pleasure of our whirlwind appearance in his office.  He took x-rays that showed just how bad the break was.  The wrist bones were shifted off of the arm bones like ice cream sliding off a cone on a hot summer day.  He was just as confused as we were about why our son didn’t have his wrist set the day of the injury (2 days ago).  Then we talked options.  I suddenly felt weak.  Options?  To me I have often lived with the idea that doctors do what they do and I pay the co-pay.  It’s been a nice relationship for me.  I realized that Bill and I now had to make the decision.  When did we become the grown-ups?  It hit me.  We were and we were parents too.  We discussed how they could reduce the fracture in the office with local anesthesia at the wrist or we could look into sedation which would require going to a hospital.  After blank and simultaneously thoughtful looks my husband called his father for advice and I called my mother to come.  We both have ways of “dealing.”

It was decided that we would do the reduction with the aid of modern medicine.  So we were off to Albany Medical Center.  We spent a full work day in the ER waiting, worrying, crying, setting, casting, waiting, worrying, crying, RE-setting and RE-casting!  It was an adventure to be sure.  I’m not sure who fared worse…the little man or his two parents that grasped each other’s hands till circulation was cut off slightly.  I think that we braced each other for what we thought would be the worst moment of our lives to date.  We were right.

Nothing is like the moments that you watch your children breathe in the air of life for the first time or the moments that you can’t ease the pain, the confusion, the fear and the sorrow from their bodies.  It is the toughest trial to a parent and my son *only* had a broken wrist.  I can’t imagine what I would feel if something worse was wrong with him.  I recognize just how lucky we are and were this day and every one surrounding it.

Scotch saying hello to Josh.

It was a rocky day.  Between bouts of anger and fear we had really special moments too.  Josh was visited by a therapy dog named Scotch and her human, Tom.  He really liked that.  She jumped up and leaned on his gurney so he could pet her.  The golden lab smiled on command.  She also must have had a big lunch too.  She was a bit on the airy side if you know what I mean! 

We watched as they sedated our son and he was no longer “with” us.  He was in another place altogether.  He was in a world far, far away and I felt myself trying to pull him back with my voice, my touch and my tears.  I was afraid.  We watched as they pushed and pulled his bones into place.  Animals.  Strong animals were grabbing and pulling on my baby and I was helpless to make them stop.  They had to finish.  I was angry.  He started to come out of the sedation and the confusion and fear was earth shaking.  He screamed with primal abandon.  He was afraid for his life.  I was afraid again.  As he began to calm down he wanted his mom and dad.  He begged for us but wasn’t sure we were who we said we were.  He reached for us, pulled is to his chest without seeing us and stroked our heads.  I was overjoyed.  This was the most honest feeling of love I think I have ever felt.  His small hands were comforting me while making him feel that we were there. 

Josh trying to relax before sedation and reduction.

He soon remembered where he was, who we were and the words of the doctor who said, “he won’t have any memory [of the procedure]”.  He had only taken away part of that statement. 

“Can I still do math?” 

“What?” We asked. 

“Did I lose my memory?  Can I still do math?” 

“Buddy, what’s 5 plus 5?” asked my husband.

“10,” He whimpered. 

“Yes, sweetheart you can still do math!” I announced.  I was amused to no end.  Saying that I love this kid is just not enough!

I had to have the biggest signature!

Our trial was far from over I’m afraid.  As we waited for his cast to dry and harden we were told that the casting was not good and the bone shifted.  Unlike the funny Southwest Airline’s steward joke of “Shift Happens” this was not news that I wanted to hear.  I dreaded the idea of more meds and going through this again.  I soon rethought that when I found out that they were opting for a local pain blocker this time.  Oh boy!  It didn’t need to be moved as far but he was fully alert and felt it the entire time.  Trying to be brave for him was exhausting!  Our son made it through the ordeal of the day.  We got him his meal of choice and headed home.  A long 8 hour day in the ER deserved a good night’s rest.  I think that we all crashed where we landed when we finally made it home!

I've spared some of the details as some of those are private and really to retell them would cause me to relive those visions.  It’s best to soldier on and save those tears for another day.  Mommihood really isn’t for us criers….but I wouldn’t trade it!