Just because

In over sixteen years of parenting, I’ve never had to deal with a broken bone.  Well there’s been a few broken toes over the years – but they were all mine.  The children have however, remained intact.  Until now. 

And it wasn’t the eldest, whose tendancy to mouth off has found him at the wrong end of a few fists over the years. Nope.   Nor was it my over-animated four-year old daredevil who’s one aim in life seems to be to scare the heck out of his mother as his older siblings never did.  Ever. 

The nine-year old miss is also uninjured.  Well, unless you ask her of course.  I’m sure she would find something.  After all, she has three brothers to vie against for attention.  Yay. 

So that leaves, of course, the child in question.  My quiet, often reserved and “go slow” six-year-old. *sigh*  Yes, he who rarely moves at any speed faster than a snail whilst constantly adjusting his glasses with a finger as he stops once in a while to check his view hasn’t suddenly changed.   That of course, is AFTER he doesn’t hear the instruction (or chooses to engross himself in an activity more to his own liking ) and takes a good 30 seconds to adjust his position and begin said journey. Yep, ’twas him.

Upon arrival to collect my middle male offspring from after school care last Thursday, it was pointed out that I had missed a phone call from the carer.  Unaware of it due to having already answered a call from her earlier in regards to my nine-year old miss who was off to camp my heart dropped.  I had forgotten to let them know of her absence.  Oops.

However Master six was grumpy and sullen.  He had apparently fallen heavily at school whilst running (with a supposed superman style flight attempt) but hadn’t openly complained of any soreness.  The teacher had just kept an eye on him as he waited for the bus to after school care and informed the coordinator to watch him.

It was meltdown city from there.

My gut feeling told me there was more to this.  Much much more.  At home, he crouched down beside the couch in the lounge on the floor cradling his right elbow.  No tears unless he was lashing out at his baby brother who walked nearby.

Mum instincts rang for the home visit doctors service.  Whilst waiting for the GP’s arrival, my little man ate his dinner quietly at the table.  I was grateful for small mercies since he is left-handed.

After a few “ouches” as his shirt was removed and a gentle shower, he was dried and redressed.  He returned to his prior position in front of the couch to await the practitioner’s visit.

The doctor didn’t take long to point out the difference in my lad’s collarbones upon comparing them.  It was an evening trip to the emergency room for us.

Another two doctors, three nurses, a dose of nurofen, a movie, a sleep, an X-ray (whilst asleep!) and a sling later, I was informed he’d snapped it cleanly in two.  My heart sank.  Bad mama moment.  I missed it.  I hadn’t protected him.  It didn’t help being in the hospital either.

During the short drive home, I had time to think.  He was just like his older brother… not complaining of being in pain.  At all.  Unless its extreme.

I sometimes wonder if that was to make up for a younger sister, who thinks screaming is an acceptable form of persuasive everyday communication…

For now, my precious six-year-old has a purple homemade sling, a cheeky grin and very little need for painkillers.  Ask me how he’s going in another three weeks… can we last the distance?


~ by C J on November 26, 2011.

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