Because of my search and rescue work I have an extensive research library on things that most people would not find all that palatable. Knowing is empowering; and empowerment allows for a more efficient and effective response.
So we strive to learn; even the stuff that turns our stomachs. One such topic involved the statistics involving child abduction and homicides. Firstly, the fact that there is actually data is both sad (that there is data to collect in the first place) and also immensely helpful in trying to contribute to a solution. After all, the monsters that hurt our children are all 'cut from the same cloth'. In my post on that topic, I first published the details then, upon reflection, I removed most of the details after anguishing for awhile. Thank goodness for the edit feature.
If only we could do the same for our
Emily got hurt in school yesterday. Not in a blood squirting kind of hurt, but in an ouch my knee started swelling after running and I can't stand kind of hurt. While schlepping her to the doctor, and to abate her fear of what lies ahead, I told her that she might need x-rays.
"Do x-rays hurt? I've never had them before."
"Well, pretty much Sweetie. They feel like, well, 20 bee stings." Levity Dad. Levity!
With sweat now developing on her brow, she suddenly forgot about how bad her leg hurt. 'You're welcome', I thought. Taking her mind off of the immediate, real pain and replacing it with obsessive, terrifying thoughts of a future full of debilitating pain....it is a gift, really.
Once at the doctor, which I think is Botswanan for "wait in a germ infested room while the staff catches the last 45 minutes of Oprah", Emily asked me what I thought the problem was. Since there was no trigger event, obvious injury and no pro ice skater with a bat was hanging out during her recess, I ran down the list of possibles. One was Osgood-Schlatter Disease, which I had as a youth. I was quite confident that the origins of all OSD were from a calcium deficiency so I was therefore quite confident in eliminating this as possibility to Emily since she drinks more milk than Vermont has cows. Tactic # 8346: let them know they don't have some scary sounding disease - especially when you are quite confident - so the real issue is easier to handle. "Relax" I said, "it is probably a muscle pull or a hyper-extension. A few days on crutches and you'll be good as new." Right.
In my wisdom, I told Ethan before we went to pick up his sister that I would only bring one extra bottle of VBM. Why? Because I'm a numskull. As the rest of the world knows, doctor's offices are the devil-incarnate of Gilligan's Island excursions. Sure, I thought, we'll be in and out and back home in time for Ethan's next feeding. No problemo. No way could this 30 minute appointment be swept away into a 5 hour shipwreck of time lost. No Problemo.
So, 3 hours into our tour, itching from the germs that are burrowing into my body by now, Ethan starts, um, vocalizing his wanton desire for nourishment of the maternal kind: "I WANT SOME MILK!" 'How about a dance?', I try. "I WANT SOME MILK!" 'How about a pacifier, a dance and a song?', I beg. "I WANT SOME MILK!" How about $20 dollars plus you can puke down my shirt again without me shrieking in your ear like I did last time? Pleeease? Not happenin', unfortunately. I should have brought the 2nd bottle of milk, right?
"Hello, Tonya? Are your breasts available? Please?" (Aren't I romantic?)
30 minutes and a perturbed, scornful and humored waiting room later, Tonya and her vegetarian breasts appear (take THAT Google search engine!), just in time for Emily to be carted off into x-ray.
Oops. I forgot to un-fudge the "hurts like 20 bee stings" story. Man, I gotta watch what I say...
As if I didn't need yet another reminder of that, the doctor called with the x-ray results today: Yep, Osgood-Schlatter Disease. Crutches for 2 weeks up to 2 years, depending. Poor child. Soccer season starts in a week and I don't look forward to our chat tonight.
Among other things, some day when I'm King, I'm gonna order someone to invent a rewind button for my mouth.