My son, who broke his arm playing basketball two days after Hurricane Jeanne hit us (yeah, it's been that kind of year) is having his cast removed today.
Prior to this, none of my children, including the grown up one, have ever suffered a fractured bone of any kind. I was weirdly proud of this, for some reason, i.e. My kids are too careful and/or too smart to break anything. I raised 'em right. Their father and I have about 175 broken bones between us, and are suffering with different forms of arthritis that have affected formerly broken bones. In my case, my right leg sings all the parts of the Ave Maria every morning as I hobble around.
The nature of my son's break isn't all that serious; if you are going to break your arm, definitely go for a distal fracture of the radius. Still, I'm anxious to see the new x-ray the doc will take, and observe his range of motion, and get started on the physical therapy. I want him back to himself, because he should be able to be a regular kid, play basketball, dress out for PE and not worry if he's going to smash his cast or get it wet.
At the same time, some part of me wants to fuss and fret and lock him up in his room for thirty years, so he doesn't break anything else. Got to get over that.
Thursday, November 11, 2004
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