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Moving my son around in a spica cast isn’t easy.  First, I have to carry him nearly everywhere we go.  As far when we go out of the house, here’s what I use.  We have been able to use his car seat.  The arms retract and the seat is pretty flat to accommodate his wide legs.  There are spica cast car seats, but they cost $500-$600, not in the budget.  The hospital suggested a wagon to get around, which works pretty well.  We also found that our stroller, with the tray removed and seat slightly reclined, works too.  I’ve also used an office chair at the table and to move him around the house.

We were thrilled to be home, but now what?  He was still crying a lot.  I made a spot for him on the couch.  He ate a popsicle (at least something makes him happy), and nodded off.  When he woke up, we moved him to our bed.  He slept on and off that night, and so did we.  He woke up crying each time, “want mommy, want daddy, have owies” he would say.  That scenario continued for the first week.  After that we settled into out new sleeping arrangements, knowing that he would be sleeping in our bed for the duration.

So the doctors didn’t believe us, namely that my son’s leg could have broken the way we described.  Their disbelief led to the decision that my son would need to undergo more scans and X-Rays before we could take him home.  If we refused, they told us, CPS would take him (and probably our daughter too), and the X-Rays would be done anyways.  We were trapped.  He cried for the whole hour; that was how long it took to scan every bone and joint in his body and his brain, just to be sure.  It was traumatic for him, and us.  Everything came back negative.  The doctors were wrong, but they’d never admit that.  The nurse gave us the news that evening; we could go home, safety monitors still in tow.  Happy Birthday.

I woke up on my son’s 2^nd birthday without him in the house.  It was quiet, his room empty.  We spent the whole day at the hospital trying to be happy for him on this special day.  He got a balloon and ate some cookie.  I couldn’t bring myself to light the candle on the hospital birthday cupcake that they sent up with his lunch.  It was just too sad.  I took a picture though, every scrapbook need a 2^nd birthday picture.

So as I mentioned, CPS was also called.  A caseworker came to the hospital to get out story and make the assumption that we are child abusers; guilty until proven innocent here.  She attempted to explain what the next steps were, but I was in a fog, exhausted from the day’s emotion.  I couldn’t process much of what she said and had to ask her to repeat herself so I could grasp the concept.  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” she said.  “You can’t take your daughter home tonight, unless you have a Safety Monitor with you.”  A what?  So that was it; I couldn’t be alone with my children.  What could I say?  Arguing was pointless.  I drove home with my daughter, and my mother-in-law, aka Safety Monitor.

They moved us to the children’s wing. Some lady with a clip board asked me an obscene number of questions (do we have to do this now?). She finally left, and there we were; my little man in his bright blue cast. He looked sad. I held his hand. I tried not to focus on the cast, but I couldn’t help it. He was happy to see his grandpas, and perked up a little more when they brought him a popsicle. That night he finally let out a smile as if to say ‘the world is not over, I’ll be ok.’

We finally got to see him. He was groggy but awake. He cried and I hugged him as best I could. I got my first look at the cast. It enveloped his whole body it seemed, covering his lower half in a sea of bright blue plaster. And then they came; four officers. They had warned us the police would interview us as well as CPS because of my son’s age and the type of break. Fine. They took me in a room and asked me the same questions over and over and I repeated my story again and again until she was satisfied. She met with the other officers who had interviewed my husband (in front of my son while he cried no less), and they decided that out stories checked out. No charges would be pressed and they dropped the investigation. They let me go.