The unbearable pain of broken bones
There are moments when I am reminded of how important Ari and Eli are to me. How my life could be completely and utterly destroyed if anything ever happened to either one of them. How I would sacrifice anything for their well being. Anything. How every single moment I am grateful for their safety and health.
Most of the time I try not to think too hard about this topic, because I fear I could very easily cross over into insanity land and just go ahead and bubble wrap everything, never leave the house and bathe everyone three times a day in hand sanitizer. So I try not to think of it. But, I suppose the question will always be with me: “are they okay? are they okay? are they okay?” like a second heartbeat, whether I am awake or asleep, beating over and over and over, whispered softly over the paperwork, over the noise of my classroom and the phone calls, emails and meetings. “Are they okay? Where are they? How long until I get them and know for sure?”
Trying to get over this is imperative when you have your children in daycare. Daily, I take a leap of faith that everyone will be okay and I try very, very hard not to think too much about it. I try to quiet that whispering question, “Are they okay?” so I can go on. It is the only way that I am able to ever be away from them. And I will always be one to worry that something is going to go wrong.
Phone calls from daycare in the middle of the workday are never a good thing. Last week I got a phone call that Ari had fallen. When I found out he had broken his arm and was on the way to the ER with Ethan it felt very similar to getting the crap beaten out of me. In the car on the way to the hospital there was an unrest in me, an itchiness, a panic that simply would not go away until I was holding Ari in my arms and I knew he was okay. That and my desire to punch someone. Someone let my baby get hurt and I wanted to just punch someone.
When I got to the parking lot of the ER I ran, noticing people looking at me like they were worried I was at the hospital for something very serious — really the only indication to me that I might be overreacting a tad. People go to hospitals for much worse things than broken arms. I ran into the ER, down the hall until I heard a very calm and cheerful Ari talking to Ethan, “I got iye-keem cone! iye-keem cone ah-done. I wan new iye-keem cone!” It was all going to be okay. My baby had a broken arm, but he was going to be okay. I could breath again.
I’ve always had a fear of things going wrong. Something in me will always be afraid to be too sure that things will stay as good as they are. And there is nothing that has ever happened to me that is as good as my children. A big part of parenthood is illness and injuries and quite frankly, there is a lot you can learn from getting hurt. Until Ari’s broken arm, I have never heard Ari talk about how he doesn’t want to get a bad boo-boo again, and I have never seen him so careful around playscapes before. It is a fact I have learned over and over, pain causes growth. It is bound to happen to my children too. I need to let it happen so they can grow. But the thing is, I can think of no worse pain for me than that of my child.
Besides the x ray, which Ari was terrified of, he was pretty unphased by the whole experience. His arm broke right under the shoulder, and it is not possible to put a cast that high on the arm, so he has worn a sling to support the arm while it heals. He just had a second x ray taken (which was less traumatic) and got confirmation that in a few weeks he can go without the sling and he will be good as new a few weeks after that. There is something pretty adorable about tiny little Ari walking around with his very grownup looking sling talking very seriously about how he got a ”bad, bad boo boo when he fell off the playscape.” It is all going to be alright, and there is nothing that I have ever wanted in my life than that.
