At least I don’t smell like man poop. Emergency room wisdom Part III
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The other one is now broken too. Kid that is.
This is where the image of our children’s matching broken feet would be, but F’n WordPress will not allow me to import images anymore. You can see it on Twitter if you care or just take my word for it.
The last time I spent 7 hours in the emergency room was with our house-sitter. Our dog took her out at her feet in an exuberance of excitement to greet us at the door. While in emerg, three different grown men pooped the bed. This past week’s experience was less stinky, but just as painful.
This time, day 2 at a new school, I get a call from the office. I answered with the usual panic voice because I was _________ a) worried about my boy, or b) worried that my day was about to get stupid. This is one of those ‘fill in the blanks’ games.
I picked up broken child, B10, and headed to emerg. After 3 hours we finally saw a doctor who promptly told me he couldn’t believe we were waiting for three hours because they try to see paediatric patients within 90 minutes. When I said ‘it was only double. That’s not bad.’ That may have been unwise.
The doctor finally ordered the X-ray which is something they should just get mums to fill out. I mean, I already use self check for groceries and fill in my own dry-cleaning slips, certainly I can be trusted to check off the word ankle on the X-ray form? Actually, they may be right because if it was Mister in emerg I might be tempted to mark off penis just to see him limping out of X-ray leaving the technician with a black eye.
The doctor sent B10 home 2 hours later with a temporary cast in anticipation of the morning’s 640am fracture clinic appointment. While at the hospital for B10 the next day, I took the time to get G13’s foot re X-rayed to confirm that her growth plate injury was not mis-diagnosed.
So both kids saw the same orthopedic surgeon Thursday morning for the same injury to the same side of their body. Coincidentlly, the left foot would be the one I would most likely kick if they were beside me from my favourite spot on the couch or if they came up to me, my kick would land firmly on their left side. Why didn’t anyone take me aside and call children’s aide? Doesn’t anyone care? Shouldn’t my kids be taken away from me at least for a weekend?
But the kicker (HA) is that my dad had just come off the plane for his annual visit when I got the call. He had to wait at the house with the Roger’s guy who was there for 5 hours (my dad’s own jail). The next day, Mister was travelling so my dad had to wake up early to take half of my offspring to emerg for 615am. I would say that I’d be written out of the will, but I am sure that happened years ago.
I will need to punish B10 for not making enough fuss though. The kid didn’t even cry, scream or complain. He loved to ride around in that wheelchair while I desperately tried to convince the nurses that a wine dispenser was not only a great idea for emerg, but necessary.
I told B10 that if that ankle wasn’t broken, he would owe me 6 hours of early bedtimes since I lost 6 hours of my life while there. I thought that was inventive parenting and way better than saying ‘You are going to wish that leg was broken’ which was my initial reaction. Then again, I also thought that wine dispensers in emerg was inventive until the nurse pointed out she wanted one too.
Maybe I will skip the suggestion box in favour of the Purell station on the way out. Now that’s good advice!