Healing begins…NOW!



As much fun as it can be to relate irritating stories of long waits and frustrations in any area of life (snicker), I’m afraid I do not have one today.  When I initially got word that the first available appointment to cast Andrew’s broken arm wouldn’t be until this Friday, it was all frustration and irritation.  In addition to be a bit upset that his broken bone would be ‘un-fixed’ for about ten days between injury and repair, I knew that we had unchangeable plans to travel to Michigan for a wedding on Friday.  And of course, it was the busiest day of the week for us–our CC day, the worst time to spend hours on the phone pleading my case.  Add to all of that how much I abjectly dislike talking on the phone AND trying to convince someone of my point of view (ask Todd; he has lots to say about the subject), and perhaps it’ll start to make sense as to why I sat in the sanctuary staring at my phone, giving myself a pep talk on how to get what I wanted and not take no for an answer.

But really.  Let’s step back for a moment and have a brief reality check.  His break isn’t that bad.  It’s a buckle fracture, which is common in growing kids when their bones are more cartilaginous than their fully-grown counterparts.   No bone fragments were poking through skin.  He wasn’t howling in pain at all hours of the night (although there were some hours that I complained).  I get that it was a relatively minor break, but it is still a break, and as such, should be repaired as quickly as possible before any weird problematic healing can occur.  (I did a lot of google searches and reading about Salter-Harris type II fractures of the distal radius.)

OK. End of reality check.

After feeling like I had built myself up as best I could, I dialed the number and hoped for the best.  The phone call was not the best, but I managed to plead my case.  We had to leave Friday morning for a trip to the great white north, I explained, and was there any possible way that Andrew could get that cast on before then?

I was met with a long, seemingly interminable silence.  It was so lengthy and so silent, in fact, that I really wondered if she’d hung up on me.  No “I’m checking,” and no “give me a moment.”  Just nothing.  I waited, but almost had to say, “….Are you still there?”

Finally, there was a prolonged (but audible!) sigh, and the confirmation that they could double book an appointment on Wednesday afternoon.  I didn’t care if we were called ‘double booked’ or a ‘work in,’ I was just thankful that we had something before Friday.  After being reminded that we’d probably have to wait a significant amount of time, I thanked her and hung up.

Andrew survived the next two days (ha ha) with his arm wrapped at night and splinted during the day.  To our delight and relief, our trip to Georgetown this afternoon took longer than our actual wait in the office waiting room, but we did have time to parse and diagram a few sentences in the freezing cast room.


The entire experience was fabulous and he was treated so well.  The doctor (who had also treated Patrick earlier this year when he’d rolled his ankle), engaged Andrew in a lively conversation about how he’d fallen and the game he was playing when he tripped.   The doc had already looked over the x-rays, and in no time, the PA got to work at wrapping Andrew’s little arm.  He didn’t like the way the cast felt at first, but he has three weeks to get used to it (and probably sick of it before the end).  By the time we had checked out and made our follow-up appointment, he was grinning from ear to ear once more.



Once we arrived back home, he began the fun task of asking people to sign his black cast with silver marker.  As you can imagine, he’s looking forward to that part of the ordeal.  It’s a far cry from a week ago when he was whimpering and bemoaning, “I wish this had never happened!”

Let the healing begin!


PS One funny note:  when the doctor and the PA walked into our room, the first thing one of them observed was, “WOW, it is COLD in here!” (It was. My nose was chilly by the time they strode in, but thankfully, Andrew seemed blissfully unaware.)  The other comment the doc remarked to the PA was, “Does it smell like a candle in here to you? It smells….sweet or something.”  I sniffed, trying to see if I, too, could smell it, but I detected nothing.  It wasn’t until the ride home that it dawned on me that the “candle” smell was actually the Thieves Oil Andrew and I had doused ourselves with before going inside.  Call me crazy, but strange office waiting room + all sorts of potential germs + Thieves Oil = less potential strange germs coming home with us.  You can call it witchcraft if you’d like, but I’m not going to be caught out there.  Even if it means I’m classified as smelling like a candle.  I can live with that.


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