This week my daughter broke her leg, and we’re not talking a hairline fracture. She snapped both the tibia and fibula in two near her ankle. Yep, it was an evening of ice-skating that went oh so wrong.
I wasn’t there when it happened, but I rushed to the hospital as quick as I could. When I got there, she was already riding a morphine wave of fun as they pushed on her very bent foot to get x-rays. Ew…I don’t think I’m ever going to get that image out of my head.
At one point she started crying. Not because of pain, but because the third quarter of school would end in two days.
“Mommy, I can’t miss school now. There will be no time to make up the assignments I miss.”
I should warn you here, that I when I’m stressed, I have this weird silly side that comes out. I start making jokes when it would probably be more appropriate for me to stay serious.
“Well, nurse, you heard her,” I said the woman checking her monitor. “She’s got to be to school. I suggest we break out the saw, ‘cause no way is that,” I flopped my hand back and forth pretending to be her funky angled foot, “going to heal by morning.”
Though the nurse repressed a smile, my daughter cried even harder. The poor thing was so drugged up she no longer perceived my teasing. Sadly, this went on for most of the night. My worried mind could do nothing but tease, and she kept thinking I was picking on her.