What Was To Come

August 23

What Was To Come

As you may or may not have noticed from my little snippet of a post yesterday, the day got off to a bad start.  One cannot imagine the coverage that can be achieved by 150 pounds of dog with the trots until one wakes up to find it all over one’s house.  ALL.  OVER.

But really, I’m not going to beat a dead (stinky) horse, because the rover runs were nothing compared to what was to come.

Do you want to hear the story of what was to come?  Well, of course you do.  That’s why you’re here.

My niece (hmmm . . . what to call her, what to call her?  How about KT?  And, no, her name is not Katy, but she does have a rather deep, somewhat sultry voice like Kathleen Turner, so KT it is).  Anyway, KT, who is six months older than Midge, spent the day with us yesterday and was spending the night.  Being Wednesday yesterday, we had our regularly scheduled evening of martial arts.  KT came along to watch.

Who knew you could break your wrist watching martial arts classes?

O.K., she wasn’t actually watching when she broke her wrist. 

*Long sigh of regret and disbelief as I prepare to tell the story which shows how irresponsible I apparently am*

When Midge and Tank Boy’s class ends, I traditionally take the two of them and go shopping whilst the older kids and McH take their classes.  Last night Midge wanted to stay so she and KT could play with the older girls after their class, but during McH’s class.  Since there are two large, well-padded rooms at the studio (thereby allowing McH to teach the little kid classes while the owner teaches the advanced kid classes), the kids usually play in the smaller studio while the adults do their class in the larger studio.

Do you see where this is going?

Against my better judgement, I took Tank Boy and left the four-year-old and darn near five-year-old to play with the older kids.  I reminded them to behave, and not make too much noise, and NOT DO ANYTHING THEY SHOULDN’T DO.  One of the things they shouldn’t do, a thing which I have told my kids countless times not to do, is to climb up on the stack of folded up mats and jump from that dizzying height of about 3.75 feet on to the matted floor below.

I left.  Here is the kicker:  then I came back!  I came back, the kids were back there playing, and all was well; but I didn’t go back there with them.  Instead I sat out in the lobby so that I could feed Tank Boy the snack he had been begging for all evening.  So, while he was shoving his face (literally shoving) full of Little Debbie Swiss Cake Rolls, my sweet little niece was taking her Leap of Doom.

A~ came running out to tell me her cousin jumped off the mat-stack-‘o-peril and now she was crying and her wrist had a bump on it.  Yes, well that is what it looks like when a bone is poking the wrong direction in there.  Gah!

After seeing KT and her bumpy wrist I not-so-subtly indicated to McH that his class was now over for the night and we had to leave.  As we were going out a paramedic/EMT guy (also a student there) was coming in.  His assessment:  skip urgent care, go straight to the hospital, and do you have a magazine to use for a splint?

A magazine?!?  Am I a large-tote-carrying mother-of-four whose alumni magazine happened to show up in the mail that day?  Why, yes I am!  So we wrapped her arm up in the alumni magazine, still open to the page with a smiling Jane Clayson Johnson talking about giving up her career in favor of full-time motherhood, taped it all together, and sped off.  Wow did the medical staff think I was brilliant when they saw the splint!

Anyway, during this flurry of splinting and speeding,  I ascertained that KT had jumped off the mats because she saw Midge jump of the mats.  Grrrrrreat.

So she was crying because she was in a lot of pain, Midge was crying just as much because she felt so responsible for her cousin’s pain, discomfort, and oh-my-gosh!-they’re-probably-broken bones.  None of my kids have ever broken a bone, so this was a big deal.  A~ shed a few quiet tears of horror and concern and L~ just looked like a deer in the head lights.

In an attempt to both distract and prepare KT, I started telling her what mostly likely was going to happen and that if she needed a cast she might get to pick a color.  She said she wanted pink.  Tank Boy then said he wanted a blue cast.  We told him he wasn’t getting a cast and then he started to cry.  And then I started to cry.  I had a truck full of crying kids who would instead all be on their way back home for ice cream or Little Debbies had I just been there.  And my niece and my brother — like they haven’t had enough to deal with the past couple years what with the divorce and all?  Like they needed one. more. thing?

Well, back to the story.  Yes, from diarrhea of the dog to diarrhea of the fingers.  You just never know what you’ll get over here.

My mother met us at the emergency room.  McH dropped me off and took the crying kids home.  The hospital staff got KT into a room amazingly fast, pumped her full of morphine (getting the IV freaked her out), and then took the x-rays.  Yes, it was indeed broken.  Actually, both bones, the tibia and the fibula were broken.  *Snort*  Just kidding.  I’m not that dumb.  The radius and the ulna were both broken.  Eventually they gave her more drugs, the ortho resident set the bones, she got a white plaster cast (the pink one comes next week) and we were on our way.  In and out in about three hours.  I was amazed!

Anyway, in the meantime, while we were there, every nurse, doctor, radiologist and janitor with whom we crossed paths had to ask me how it happened, thereby compounding my guilt.  They also kept telling each other, “This is aunt, this is grandma, and mom is on her way.”

Ummm . . .  no, actually, mom was not on her way.  Mom was only an hour and a half away, but no, Brokeback Betty, after hearing the news that her youngest daughter was in the hospital, said she was going to bed, not coming to be there for her child.  Brokeback Betty, who is only minutes away from my brother and could have offered to take the other three children and get them off to school this morning so that he could have come down to be with KT, was going to bed so, you know, if she didn’t answer her phone when someone called with an update, that would be why.   She’ll just see KT and the other kids when it’s her turn to have them, thankyouverymuch; yesterday was not her turn. 

KT, incidentally, never once through the whole ordeal asked for her mommy.  I think that broke my heart more than seeing her physical pain.

Anyway, today all is good.  KT is no longer in pain, which was her main goal and concern, and there is only very minimal swelling of her fingers due to the injury and/or cast that goes all the way up to her shoulder.  She has been explaining to my kids that she can still color, and she got medicine through her hand last night.  She doesn’t want anyone to sign her cast, and I think she’s excited by the prospect of all that plaster getting her out of regularly scheduled bath times.

I, on the other hand, am exhausted and guilt ridden (but not about the nickname I’ve picked for my ex-sister-in-law, so no matter how sympathetic and liberal minded you may be, don’t leave me comments or send me emails about the inappropriate nature of her nickname, because you really don’t know the whole story there and I am much less “intolerant” than you probably would assume — except when it comes to her). 

Tank Boy, who didn’t even see the fateful jump, has been attempting to re-create it for me today because he really wants a cast.  I am not making that up.  “I will have a broken bone someday,” he told me this morning after I told him that, no, I really didn’t want him to jump off of the swivel chair to show me what happened to his cousin last night.  He is so going to wind up as a You Tube celebrity someday.

And George, if you’re out there, Tewt the Newt would never make snide Brokeback comments about you.

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