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The hour of waiting was filled with phone calls to family; explaining the fall over and over to each one, each in disbelief at the kind of break from the type of fall. We waited more. We speculated about what the coming weeks would hold for us. My husband would take the week off of work, then what? How would I manage my immobile 2 year old and my 5 month old baby? It’s been an hour. The doctor came in; everything went well, he’s ok. They’ll come get us in a minute to see him. Liars. We waited a lifetime. 20 more minutes.

We finally saw some doctors, first the Anesthesiologist then the Orthopedic Surgeon.  Neither had a great bedside manner.  Both seemed cool and matter of fact, a stark contrast to our emotional state.  We signed the consent for general anesthesia, a scary thought for any parent.  The Orthopedic Surgeon told us more about the cast; what to expect.  He won’t we able to move much, just sit on the bed.  It will take 6-12 weeks to heal, oh, and it will smell.  We watched as they wheeled him off to the OR.  It’ll take an hour.  Take care of my baby, I prayed.

We were moved upstairs and my husband arrived shortly after.  We talked to the nurse who made me sign some papers including one that said “spica cast”.  “What’s that?”  I said.  “That’s the kind of cast he’s getting,” she said.  Duh, I thought.  “Um, ya, but what IS it?”  “A body cast” she said, “from his waist to his toes, around his hips with a whole for his diaper.”  The news hit hard.  I had been picturing a leg cast, but with mobility, thinking he would be crawling around like a spider after a week or 2.  Not with this cast.  This was a sentence of immobility, difficult news the day before his second birthday.  Nathan had seen me cry a lot today.  He looked at Daddy and said, “Mommy cires.”  “I know,” I said.  “I’ll try to stop.”  And I put on a smile for him.

The next hour was a whirl.  Nurses asking for ID and insurance cards (like I really want to think about that now), calling my husband to tell break the news, talking to doctors that don’t know enough about pediatric orthopedics to make the conversation worth while.  There was talk of surgery, pins, and casts.  They put in an IV and gave him meds for the pain.  They missed the first time, then decided to change hands.  Uhh.  I wanted to scream, “This is my baby!  Think first!  Be careful!  Can’t you see this hurts him!”  We waited to be admitted to the hospital and talk to the orthopedic surgeon who would set his leg.  They splinted his leg to make him more comfortable.  He sat up, legs bent like a little frog.  He asked me to sing to him, “Twinkle Star again” he said in his soft pained voice.  So I did.  It was all I could do. 

 I had to wake him up when we got to the ER.  He cried again.  The triage trainee assessed his injury as far as I could tell him what happened.  The nurse finally asked me to put him down on the bed, and then I saw it.  His thigh had a huge bump on it and was hard to the touch.  Everything started happening so fast.  We went to get X-Rays which confirmed it, broken femur, spiral fracture.  My heart sank.  I cried for my son, and I cried for me.

So we went to Urgent Care.  Again, I never believed his leg could be broken from just falling on the ground.  The NP at the Urgent Care took one look and him and sent us to the ER.  She suggested a children’s ER.  I put him back in the car, shaking in pain every time I moved him.  He fell asleep on the way to the ER, thank God.

So my son broke his leg.  Nothing crazy happened.  He didn’t jump off the roof or even fall off his bike.  He was walking in the house, slipped on a DVD case on the tile, and awkwardly fell.  I didn’t even begin to think that his leg could be broken.  After 20 minutes of crying and refusing to move or eat chocolate (which he never refuses), I called my husband to come home from work.  Something had to be wrong.