The Broken Boy

Well, it’s fractured.

Following a Tarzan-type incident on the tire swing, Mr. Smartypants makes his first trip to the ER in `08. Accident-free until April: this is quite an improvement over last year.

Smartypants, who is a seasoned pro at emergency treatment, was very cooperative and brave. He followed instructions. He didn’t complain that the doctor was taking too long. And he didn’t try to bite anyone.

He even flirted a bit with the radiologist. He didn’t get her phone number as requested but scored a Popsicle.

He’s 8: so one is just as good as the other.

Meanwhile, Ms. Diva was fascinated by the doc who illustrated the type of break on hospital bed sheets… with a pen… and nobody even yelled at him. I truly wish they would not do such things in the presence of five year-olds.

Seeing the twinkle in her eye, I promptly informed her (in kid-friendly terms) it is not acceptable to write on bed linens: unless you make around $230k annually – then you can write on any damn thing you’d like.

Anyway since his [Smartypants, I mean] arm was swollen to about the size of Aunt Gertie when she’s retaining water, I did have a moment of extreme maternal panic, wherein I thought, “Oh my God! how will this affect his ability to play the violin?!” (He doesn’t actually play the violin, but I’m thinking more into the future… you know, when and if someday, he wants to learn to play the violin… which I’d prefer over the drums or a glockenspiel.)

I noticed, however, the panic, which accompanies trips to the ER, is not as intense as it once was. It tends to evaporate quickly now, leaving in its place a calm acceptance of the facts.

Those facts are, despite the helmets, pads, guards and special reinforced pants: we are parents of a fearless kid who habitually tears up his body parts. At this point, we should be entitled to a preferred customer discount. And we likely will repeat this process again in the future… I mean, unless Old Navy invents some type of breathable bubble-wrap suit made of Kevlar for children 6+.

Until then… I’ve called the pediatrician’s office for an orthopedic referral (I didn’t care much for the ortho on call.) Then, I called the other mommies and scoured the internets to make sure the doc we were referred to isn’t some sort of super-quack.

Finally, I called the doc’s office and asked the staff extremely awkward questions, such as: “What percentage of your patients are under the age ten? Are you comfortable with pediatric casting? How many lawsuits do you have pending against your practice right now? How about last year? Seriously girl, you can tell me – does your boss ever hit the sauce at work?”

Again – it’s the whole violin thing.

So, the follow-up appointment is Wednesday. And honestly, aside from the nuclear meltdown that came when he discovered he couldn’t play baseball or soccer, ride his bike, 4-wheeler or skateboard for at least a month – he’s doing rather well.

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