Tuesday, August 23, 2011

If it ain't broke....oh wait, it is.

Saturday.  I'm at "work" (part-time job helping out friends of ours who own a local bakery, run their booth at the local farmers market.  By myself).

I'm about a half hour away from closing time. It's been a good morning.  Not too hot.  I'm making a mental list of things I'll need to stop and get at the grocery store for dinner.

My cell phone rings.  It's my husband.  He never calls me.  This is gonna be bad.


"He {Little Man} just broke his wrist!!!!!!"

Now, my husband is not a panicker.  By any means.  Sometimes it drives me crazy.

He was now in Official Panic Mode.  Shit.

I had to ditch the booth, call my "boss" and take off like a bat out of hell in a car with the gas light on empty.

In my mind, I was envisioning my own broken wrist from a few years back.  Swelling.  Bruising.  Painful, but manageable.

At the local urgent care, they instructed him to go to another urgent care across town.  This message didn't get relayed to me until I pulled into the parking lot.  Gas light on empty.  Shit.

I can hear my baby screaming in the backseat.  I can hear the utter desperation in my husband's voice.  I am helpless.

We meet up at the walk in clinic the next town over.  Neither kid has shoes on.  They're both still in pajamas (it's almost 1 o'clock... P.M.)  And dear hubby forgot the diaper bag.  Men.  Awesome.

Hubby had wrapped the wrist in ice and a towel.  Good daddy.  We patiently wait for the doctor. 

When she removes the homemade 'wrap' to inspect the 'wrist', I nearly vomit.  And I've seen some pretty disgusting things in my old life as a veterinary nurse.  I can handle just about anything.  Really.

This was not the 'wrist' (although I can see where the confusion came in as his wrist was actually dangling, seemingly detached from his forearm).


After x-rays confirmed the OBVIOUS (Displaced radius/ulna fracture), we headed off to the actual EMERGENCY ROOM where we spent the next 8 hours.

He was x-rayed (again!), poked with needles, given an IV, and rendered unconscious so they could re-set the bones into place.  He's now in a full-arm cast, complete with a prescription of kiddie vicodin.

I felt this warranted me begging for some IV valium while at the hospital.  All I got were blank stares (so far CPS has not shown up at my front door, so I guess we're good)

Which brings me to my next mission in life:  Bars in hospitals.

1 comment:

  1. OMG!!! No offense, but I would have totally shit a brick. I hope he's okay now.


    The Brainless Housewife :P