i had another much more fun post in the works for this week and then… well, life changed direction.
got a call on wednesday from J, our son. he said he had hurt his hand. he lives in a rough part of the city so i imagined an encounter with bad guys. nope. he’s a musician, so i wondered whether he hurt it hauling equipment for one of the bands he plays in. nope. he rides his bike everywhere (and a couple of years ago took a bad header off the bike that landed him unconscious in the ER) so i conjured up a wreck. nope, not that either.
turns out that the night before he was with a bunch of his friends, telling a story. he got animated and accidentally whacked his hand on a metal trash can. simple thing. big ouch.
it hurt a lot a swelled up pretty good so he put ice on it and took some ibuprofen. next day, it hurt a lot more and swelled up a lot more.
he went to the ER (oddly, got seen right away because the place was mostly empty. an empty er in philadelphia?), they took an x-ray and yep, broken. so j figured he’d get a cast and be out the door.
not so fast.
turns out he broke a metatarsal bone in his hand and needed surgery to repair it. they kept him overnight and scheduled him for surgery on thursday.
same day, same time, l was in a different hospital for her second infusion of rituxan. two out of three kids in a hospital in one day is enough. i called E, (our other child) and told her to get home safely and stay there. (L’s infusion went fine on wednesday) (E didn’t stay home but went to delaware with her boyfriend to see the show blast. they’re fine)
J’s surgery went well, doc was able to put in a plate instead of pins or screws so he doesn’t have to have it surgically removed. C stayed with him at the hospital all day and brought him home afterwards. poor kid was in a lot of pain, his hand and arm are wrapped up past the elbow.
here’s the worst part: it’s his left hand. he’s left handed. he’s also a musician with gigs lined up… he’ll be out of commission for 6 weeks or so and may need physical therapy afterward.
he’ll be fine and he’ll have a scar to tell the story. C and i are a little worse for wear.
i remember wondering why my mom was always worrying about me when i was grown, afterall i knew what i was doing and i was handling everything i had to handle. she didn’t really doubt that i knew what i was doing, she just worried. now i understand. no matter how old your kids get (J is our youngest at 21, and i still can’t get out of the habit of calling them kids, though i don’t think of them as kids like the word implies), you’re still their parent and you still worry about them. not because you don’t trust them or you don’t believe in them or you don’t think enough of their ability to make decisions.
but, simply because you love them more than you can possibly express and you don’t want bad things to happen to them. ever.