The day that Cory became “breakable”

One year ago today Cory broke his arm.   He was 13 at the time.  No biggie, right?  That, or worse, happens to people all the time, I know.  But, I have to blog about it.  It’s therapy.  I’ll try to be brief, but I have to process some details.  I’ll go easy on the icky details, but if you need to skip it, I’ll understand.

I know kids break bones every day.  I’m not sure why this was such a traumatic event in our lives.  Maybe because it looked a lot like this.  Maybe because I heard it break.  Maybe because I looked out the front door and saw Cory getting up, looking a little confused, and I couldn’t figure out why his arm was twisted that way.  Maybe it was the next 2 days of pain, with his arm only in a sling strapped to his body, every movement causing the bone pieces to shift and rub together, waiting for Monday morning so an orthopedic doctor could stabilize it.  Could’ve been any one of these things.

Thank goodness our friends, Alex and Misty, were over.  They stayed with Cameron while we quickly loaded Cory into the car that night and drove him to the hospital.  He didn’t cry.  He was scared, but only because of my reaction when it happened (nice job, mom).   The ride to the hospital wasn’t pleasant–he complained at every turn and bump.  Adrenaline was still covering the pain, though.   At the hospital, he kept asking us to tell him stories–stories he hadn’t heard before–anything to get his mind off his arm.  I read to him from a waiting room magazine–couldn’t think of any stories.

By the time, we got home later that night with the measly sling and some Lortab he was hurting and pretty exhausted, but refused to lie down.  So, we set him in a recliner, and tried to make him comfortable enough to sleep.  Unfortunately, the movement of getting up was too painful and he refused to get up–even though he hadn’t been to the bathroom for more than 18 hours.   Also, unfortunately, the Lortab made him sick and he started to vomit.   Man, that was a long day and 2 nights.

On Monday morning, I anxiously waited for the doctors office to open so I could call and get some help for my pitiful boy, who is still refusing to move from the chair.  Wednesday, they said.  They could see him on Wednesday.  “You gotta be kidding me? My child’s bone is broken through and the pieces are rubbing together when he moves. We can’t wait!”  “I’m sorry, ma’am, we can see him on Wednesday.”    Panic stricken, I hung up and called his pediatrician.  No problem, they said, let me make a call.   We took him in that day–got it casted and started the long road to healing.   Thank you, God.  Let’s not do that again, ok?

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One response to this post.

  1. That one’s still fresh in my memory! For the record, you did great…I would have FREAKED OUT.

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