Back to my Friday F Off – Emergency Room Drama Plagues Me Yet Again

Since I have been trying to play nice with Karma and doing my Friday 5 Lists, I have not improved my luck any. So, today I am going back to my Friday Fuck Off. This time, it’s personal!

I am fully aware that my part of the following story may not garner a lot of sympathy. My doctor actually told me that. But I am hoping that at least I might get a WTF?! out of a few of you (you know who you are) who have been following along on my continual run-ins with the emergency department. I will not itemize them here, but rather, send you to the itemized list I made in January here or the song I wrote about it here.

Since that time, there have been three visits to completely different hospitals and one in a different country. You guessed it, my Friday Fuck Off is KARMA! You truly are a bitch. But I must back up, so bear with me.

In March, our son had two accidents. The second was a broken nose which I knew what to do with and he wasn’t deformed so I treated him at home. Trust me, he was happy to plunk in front of the TV with an icepack and a shiner for a day. Besides, what boy wants a cute button nose anyway?

The second (which was actually the first) came when our son was following too closely behind his friend on their snowboards. Friend fell, feet and board in the air, son tried to jump said friend and sliced open his leg. Ski Patrol was called, gave him a bandage and sent him back on the hill. He texted me 2 hours later and said his ‘cut’ was bothering him. ‘What cut?’ I stupidly asked because he is 11 and cuts and bruises are commonplace. ‘The one I got boarding.’ So helpful. Anyway I told him, as ANY good mother would to ‘suck it up until lunch’. He complained again so I told him to ‘wait there and I will come and see.’. I actually ran there only to see him careen down the hill and give me a wave. Guess he’s ok.

I asked him to show me his ‘cut’ when he came in 30 minutes later. He had bled a significant amount through his sizeable bandage, his long johns, sweatpants and onto his snow pants. I’m going to guess 1.5″ circle of yuck. He panicked and wouldn’t let me remove the bandaid. I called Ski Patrol to find out WTF had happened and why I wasn’t called. They said ‘It was just a cut.’. Oh, they are all 11. Good to know.

Ski Patrol acquiesced and came to see the ‘cut’. They removed the bandaid and what I saw before me was a 1 inch gash, not unlike a vaginal opening, with fatty bits and other blood stuff trying to escape our youngest’s body. Clearly a case for stitches which Ski Patrol then admitted.

I won’t bore you with the details because – it was three hours of boring in nearby emerg – but I will sum up. There were no other visible patients in the emergency department so we were ushered into chairs for triaging right away. There were 4 visible staff unable to help because they were, in their own words, ‘run off their feet.’. Seems that the computer screen needed to be reviewed by all staff without comment for 20 minutes. The pressure! We waited in a room with no visible signs of life for 2 hours. The doctor came in and told me our son needed stitches and that, since it had been so long since the accident, he would also need really foul antibiotics that our son would refuse to take every time until I threatened his life and his Lego. Then we waited in a different room, got the stitches, proceeded to return home in a borrowed car in a blizzard that had no safety lights and feared for our lives. Considering our recent spade of car accidents, this was a real fear!

Fast forward to two weeks ago. I was enjoying lunch with the family when I (admittedly stupidly) announced that ‘no one will be going to hospital after today’s surfing lessons right?’. Why would I say that? Why would I call attention to us if that crazy bitch karma might have not noticed us on a lovely, warm, family vacation of healing our various wounds? Why, I ask? Why? So, I said it and then karma laughed her hideous laugh and struck me down on the second wave of school. I felt a snap. I knew I had broken it. I knew that I would never live it down. I knew this would not end well. I continued to surf. You heard me right. I continued to surf with what was, in my head, a broken toe. Can you say badass? They don’t do much for broken toes except tape them together. What harm could I be doing? I have paid for surf lessons and, goddammit, I am going to ride at least one wave before I look at the damage.

I got my one wave 50 minutes later and the instructor told me ‘That was all you’ happily. I said, ‘Great! Now I am done.’. He was surprised that since I had successfully completed the instruction phase of surf school I didn’t want to continue with the fun phase – knowing I was clearly a natural*. I told him that I thought I broke something and he just laughed. As you would, considering my obvious prowess on the board.

We only spent an entire day on holiday taking care of my brokenness the next day when I couldn’t bear weight on my foot at all. Only one whole day I say because when the whines started about missing the beach I added together the emergency room visits caused by the offspring while on holiday and it totalled 27.5 hours. That did not include the sitting vigil for 4 days while each child took their turn throwing up their intestinal tract in Cuba. I think an 8-hour day for their mum was coming to them.

I spared the family the Canada visit to have it re-X-rayed to confirm the break and get the cast. A whopping 5.5 hours. When my name was called at the fracture clinic I jumped up (on my crutches) and exclaimed ‘That’s me!’. Seems I made so many friends in my time there that a round of applause was in order. I took my bow before entering to hear my sentence – 2 weeks of freedom (with a walking/hobbling cast) before we determine if you will need surgery. Which, of course, I will not. Right Karma? Sweet, sweet Karma…

* I was clearly not a natural. My kids were riding waves like they had been doing it their whole lives and survived shark attacks by the dozens while I was still being guided with my training wheels on instructor holding on to the board.