Sorry, kiddo, maybe next time
Buckle her seatbelt
Tear toilet paper off of the roll
Pour liquid into a glass
Shampoo her own hair
Put a shirt on
Take a shirt off
And to her own complete and utter horror...
Carlie went to a birthday party at the ice skating rink Saturday. And fell. Being the attentive mother that I am, OF COURSE I was nowhere near the skating rink when this happened. I became the master of the drop-and-dash birthday maneuver when she was in kindergarten.
I got the call from the birthday girl that Carlie had fallen and she was hurt. Because I know my child, I headed straight for the skating rink immediately, hoping that she had not caused too much drama and terror already for her host. And also because I know my child, I didn't even consider the fact that she might actually be hurt. Because drama? Hello.
Did I mention that the skating rink is nowhere near our house and I was at home? Yeah.
So when I arrived at the rink about 30-45 minutes after the fall and saw that Carlie was (a) still crying (quietly and embarrassedly) and that (b) the wrist had been on ice the entire time and (c) it was significantly swollen after being on ice for 30-45 minutes, I took her to the E.R. Plus, it had been a whole two weeks since I had been to the E.R. and so I really wanted to go. NOT.
SIDE BAR: The trickiest part of navigating the E.R. on a Saturday afternoon is avoiding the sick children. Because, holy shit, was the place teeming with them. The coughing and the hacking and the ICK GET ME OUT OF HERE, jeez, it was disgusting. We found a spot in the "adult" waiting area, far, far away from the germ-infested "children's" waiting area, and parked ourselves in front of the Olympics next to healthy people who were waiting for sick people. So hopefully we will have escaped the trip to the E.R. without any swine flu or staph infection. Time will tell.
Anyway, the E.R. nurse said she was sure the wrist was fractured, and got Carlie all jazzed up about choosing a color for her cast. Carlie has never had a cast, but she has gazed lovingly at and lusted after the many, many casts that her fragile-yet-clumsy older sister has had over the years. So besides the whole OW OW OW MY WRIST! IT HURTS! thing, she was actually pretty excited.
Only problem? Three x-rays later and nothing is broken. Her diagnosis was a sprain of the wrist and a sprain of the thumb. Since I had a party to get to, I was pretty jazzed about the fact that she wasn't actually injured badly enough for me to have to cancel the party plans (bad mom, bad mom) and I was ready to hotfoot it right out of the E.R. when the doctor announces she wants to immobilize the thumb.
Insert 45 MORE MINUTES IN THE E.R. here while the "med tech" plasters Carlie's thumb and then creates a half-plaster cast-like (but not really) thing on Carlie's arm. Which is just plain old white plaster and wrapped in an Ace bandage. Quite disappointing.
So while she didn't get a purple glitter cast, she does have a clunky pain-in-the-ass cast-like contraption going on. Of course, she cannot wait to get to school tomorrow and have everyone ask what happened. Because? Let's just say the attention whore doesn't fall far from the tree, is all.
And on that note, the most important part of this story, yes, I did make it to the *party*. And was only 30 minutes late. Thank you for asking. And wherein *party* = eating a giant vat of homemade paella in a barn at an organic farm where the dinner seating = hay bales and orange crates. Because? We are surrounded by awesome.
Also of note, I had a follow-up with my surgeon on Friday. He removed the disgusting and heinous liver bile collection bag that I had been sporting for two weeks (praise be!) and capped off the faucet coming out of my liver. So I still have a tube coming out of my stomach (which still freaks me the fuck out) and it has a faucet on the end of it, but it's not connected to anything. Which is still eleventeen kinds of messed up, but less bulky and easier to hide under clothing. And thus, I am going back to work on Tuesday, wearing real clothes.
As much as this entire get sick/go to the hospital/have operations/feel like shit while recuperating thing has SUCKED IT HARD, if I were forced to choose one bright spot, it would be the fact that I have worn nothing but pajama pants and yoga pants since February 6. Which is about one billion kinds of awesome.
And along with going back to work, I will also be ramping back up my FSBO house sale efforts, because our sure thing buyers? Turned out to be never call you back assholes. So, yeah, I've got that to look forward to. That, plus finishing our taxes, which will surely lead to Near Divorce Moment No. 1 of 2010. We're do. We haven't had one since Near Divorce Moment No. 2 of 2009, otherwise known as CHRISTMAS SHOPPING.
Two Near Divorce Moments per year. That's not bad, right? RIGHT?