The next afternoon, Darin had left to go to St. George for work for the evening, and the kids and I were having one of our SuperPartyDates that we love so much. They asked to watch Diego again, and each time the llama awkwardly marched along (in noble effort to save Carnavál), the kids marched along, giggling all the way. At one point, li'l ~j. was marching too hard too fast, and her body moved too quickly for her hands. She tumbled forward, and I heard a SMACK. I thought her knee had hit her forehead. She was crying and holding her hand -- her middle finger had bent back and she was in quite a lot of pain. She held some ice on her hand, and after a while I looked at it: no bruising, no swelling, but she was still complaining about her finger. I gave her some pain medication and buddy-taped her fingers. She slept through the night, and when I checked her finger the next morning, it looked fine; the back of her hand, however, was swollen and had blue-ish spots. I took her to the doctor, x-rays, etc., and wouldn't you know it:
A fracture in the back of her hand. It was wrapped for a few days so the swelling could go down, and then:
Her first cast!
I think she was excited to have a cast. Even though she missed at least three opportunities to swim. Even though it was on her hand during auditions for a competition dance company (which audition was successful for her). Even though (or maybe especially because??) she's right-handed and this cast interfered with the first couple of weeks of school.
And then the time came for the cast to come off.
Oooooooooooops! Li'l owee, there...
Her hand was scrubbed for about 5 minutes straight -- she found it fascinating to see the dead, gross skin and be able to wash it off in favor of a new, healthy layer.
That was an adventure.
A couple of days later, I was at the gym, doing my favorite exercise with my trainer, which exercise consists of my tossing a medicine ball against a wall in the basketball court, having it bounce back, catching it, and immediately throwing it again, repeatedly. One wee slip gave my left thumb quite a jam, leaving it sore and bruised, but I was able to ignore it. That is, until late Friday night, when I was cuddling Bubby. Darin was, again, in St. George overnight for work, and Bubs was the only kid who was still awake, despite his being beyond tired. I was cuddling him on the couch, singing to him. I took a minute to pause and consider which song I should sing next (my bad), when, looking me lovingly in the eyes, he smacked me in the face. I picked him up to put him on the floor when he decided to throw his body into convulsions, hitting my thumb just so. That movement finished me off.
My crying was so loud that li'l ~j. woke up and came downstairs. She got me a bag of ice for my thumb and asked who we could call. I had had it. I knew I had to go to the hospital, but would have preferred to just go to sleep. I sent a text message to our favorite teen in the neighborhood, who happened to be awake and home; I told her I thought I broke my thumb, and that Darin was in St. George; she was in my kitchen within two minutes.
At the ER (or, ED, as I'm gathering from the signage they're preferring to be called these days) I was very pleased with my nurse, as well as my doctor...until, of course, pre-x-ray, he asked if I was pregnant (I said no), asked if I was sure I'm not pregnant (I said yes), and then asked me HOW I was sure I'm not pregnant (Dear Universe: Yeah, I know. Fat Belly. Thanks. Once Again.). As it is, no broken bone, but a sprained thumb, crapped-out ligament, which takes quite a while to heal (6 weeks-ish). I'll be doing my best to type like this, to keep up with the assignments. Changing diapers, though? Hahahaha.
Darin is now grounded from going to St. George.