Wednesday, September 22, 2010
They were playing "Saved" which means they were laying on the stairs, hanging on to one another's limbs and the big brother was supposed to "save" them from some impending doom. Somewhere in the being saved, Pod Three was injured.
She is a bit of an over-reactor (understatement) and was bellowing pretty good. I have some children whom I ignore when they claim terminal injuries and others who, if they cry from pain, I call the ambulance because they just cut off a leg. This one I tend to ignore or pacify. She was wailing away and trying to tell me that her arm and her body were nearly torn asunder. I was having her flex her hand, wiggle her fingers, move her wrist up and down and the other home-health diagnostics. Everything was fine. I sent her off to art class with a mouthed, "She's fine," to her teacher.
An hour later, when I picked her up from her class, she was still holding her wrist only she was now guarding her arm. Again, I asked her where it hurt, could she move this way or that and I discovered that the problem was not her wrist, as I gleaned from her early blubbering, but her elbow that was hurt.
Nurse-maid's elbow. I was sure.
When I was a newlywed, I worked in an emergency room. I'm not trying to claim much medical knowledge, but we did see several kids with nurse-maid's elbow. I watched the joint re-jointed several times. Now that I have many children, I have reduced this problems many times. I did the simple, but painful, procedure and thought I felt the pop when it all went back into place.
Still, she wailed. She guarded. She wouldn't let me touch her arm. I finally decided to take her to the doctor.
I know the doctor would have been many people's first reaction, but I rarely take in my pods. Usually, if they are sick, they need their bed and their mom more than they need to spread sickness all over a doctor and his staff. And, as rough as my kids are, we've only had one set of stitches and one major burn. So far. Cavities? Yes, we get those. Broken parts and major illness? Not yet. (Yes, I'm knocking on wood.)
She sobs and holds her arm tenderly the whole drive to the office. She sits in the lobby, cradling her arm while I fill out the papers and sign the releases. When I finish, she tells me she needs to use the restroom. While she is in there, she uses both arms to pull down her britches. She uses both hands to get some impossible-to-get doctor's office toilet paper (why do they make that so hard to use?). She pulls up her pants and washes her hands vigorously. I just stare, silently, dumbfounded.
She is fine.
While she is drying her arms, she suddenly starts pumping them up and down and, looking from one arm to the other, exclaims, "Hey! It's better!"
Who knew it was the office and not the doctor that heals?