A Tale of Two Casts (Part 2)

And here is the continuation of A Tale of Two Casts...

If you need to read the backstory, I encourage you to read Part 1.

So, we were at Hapkido on a Tuesday in August, which is my least favorite month after February, and after the big kids class, but before the little kids class, Mrs. V allows the all kids to get out all the climbing stuff out and party hard on the mat for about 15 minutes. It's a way for her to build community between the two age groups, kids are together on the mat, and figuring out how to work and play together. It's a very cool time of day at the dojo.

During the big kids' class, my younger son had the opportunity to work with the teenagers one-on-one, and both of the teenagers are both black belts. For the record: my son caused his injury all on his own, as usual; there were no other people around. But, he was feeling incredibly confident because they worked on some really cool stuff. The school is set up so that students of all ages are constantly teaching and learning. So the black belts each taught my son some things, and then he worked with another student and taught that student some things, and basically Mrs. V has it so that a person's brain works as hard as the body. The set-up for teaching and learning is absolutely brilliant.

During the play time in between classes, my younger son got on the monkey bars...you see where this is going...that hang from the ceiling and are higher than the monkey bars at school. My family has been at the dojo since January 2011, before the monkey bars were constructed and hung, so my kid has been on these monkey bars a lot. He lost his grip and fell onto the mat. It was that simple. He landed wrong. And he knows how to land, because in addition to eventually writing, staring, producing and directing...and be the cameraman...for his first ever full-length film...for which he'll win ALL THE OSCARS...he's also going to do ALL HIS OWN STUNTS. Duh. Because that's what he does. I am thankful that his vestibular sense is mostly on point. Mostly.

Below is a video of both of my sons at Hapkido during play time between classes. My older child is knocking down the bag, because he is a sensory seeker and needs deep impact. My younger child is on the monkey bars, crossing back-and-forth for the THIRD time that day. This is during play time between classes at the dojo. And, no, this isn't video of my kid breaking his arm, because I'm not that parent. But, it does give you a sense of the type of shenanigans that go down on the mat between classes.

The problem is that, as he's learned a lot in his young life, physics works; he's named after the man who discovered the Universal Law of Gravity. So, bear with me because I'm not a physicist: when my son fell from the monkey bars and broke his arm, he had a little forward momentum when his hand slipped and caused him to fall. The result of the forward momentum caused him to not land directly on his feet, which would've allowed for him to do a back break fall, decreasing the chance of injury. But because of the forward momentum, his feet and fanny hit at nearly the same time and, out of plain old instinct when a person falls from about 8 feet in the air, he put his left arm down, since he was falling to the left, and that was that.

He immediately grabbed his arm, got up, made eye contact with me, bowed off the mat, and quickly came over to me. Mrs. V came over and she assessed his arm...she's very thorough in her triage since dealing with injuries is part of what she does in her profession as a Martial Artist and personal trainer. He could bend and straighten all of his fingers, and he could move his wrist back and forth. He could bend and straighten his elbow; he could move his shoulder. And thank God for all of his parts moving properly, because it looked to me as though it was gonna be uglier than it was...and because of all the shit my family's been through, I kinda panic sometimes.

The only thing that hurt him was rotating his arm from front to back--so basically turning his hand and arm over to show us the underside of his forearm. He didn't cry...because he's pretty tough...but I knew he was hurting. He agreed to sit on the bench for the little kid's class with an ice pack on his arm. This was very difficult for him because his older brother was on the mat. So...brotherly competition...do I need to even say anything about that? No. No I don't.

One of the adult Hapkido students, who is a wonderful man, took the time to speak with me privately and disclosed that once upon a time, one of his daughters sustained an injury that is called a buckle fracture, and basically, her bone wasn't broken in two pieces, but it was slightly bent and caused some pain. According to the Pediatric Orthopedic Society of North America, a buckle fracture "occurs when only one side of the bone is compressed and buckles but does not break all the way through."

So it turns out that my 9-year-old has a buckle fracture. We found this out on Wednesday morning when we went to the walk-in clinic. But we went to the Emergency Room first, on Tuesday night, because my concern was that because he was in so much pain when he would turn his hand over, I was worried that the growth plate was broken, since his BFF Miss C broke her growth plate in third grade. And I knew it wasn't a complete fracture, which is what my son sustained last year when he broke both his radius and ulna on the monkey bars at school.

Fuckin' monkey bars.

But as we were getting ready to go to the ER, we went into to the bathroom at the dojo, and my kid was balling. He is not a crier. Dude didn't cry in June 2017 when I picked him up from school and took him to the ER with his broken bones when he was 8. So, if he's ugly crying in the bathroom, at the dojo, he's hurting pretty badly. So, I took him, and the ice pack, to the ER, which is less than 5 minutes away from the dojo. My husband went to the dojo to pick up our older son, because taking him with his brother and I to the emergency room was a horrible fucking idea.

And the ER was packed. Like, crawling with people, ain't even gonna get to see the goddamn triage nurse for an hour, sit yo' ass down because the doc won't have time to see you for at least three to four hours, type of packed.

We checked in: Anderson...s-O-n at the end. No, there are two A's in his first name, NOT two S's in his first name. How many times do I have to spell his names? How many times can you misspell Anderson or Andersen or Andersson or...seriously? Oh for fuck's sake, lemme come around that goddamn desk and access Epic and register him myself. How goddamn hard can it be? Yes, he's been here before. His birthday is XX/XX/2009. What? What do you mean you can't FIND him in the system?! A-N-D-E-R-S-O-N. One S, two A's in his first name. Are you fucking kidding me right now? He was here last June...? For a broken arm...? No the other arm. Yes. He's a frequent flyer. Yup. He's had stitches in his chin, too. Why the fuck can't I just pre-register this child for the ER? I mean, I was pre-registered with each of my kids when I was pregnant? It makes sense to just pre-register some kids for the ER, and my kid is one of them. Yes. Mmm-hmm....s-O-n at the end. Yes, A-N-D-E-R-S-O-N. Yup. That's my guy! Well, I'm really glad you found him, too.... Goddamnit...I totally should've gone to the other lady doing registrations....

Buckle fracture; left arm

Jesustapdancingfuckingchristonagoddamncross, that was painful, but we got in. Praise be. Because when we went to sit down some young woman looked like she needed to borrow my bag to puke in it.

As we were sitting there, and my son calmed down, we were able to talk. So, I asked him compared to when he broke his right arm last year, how badly does this hurt? And he said not as badly. We agreed that, since the waiting room was so packed, that it would be quite some time before they'd call him back. He said he was hungry, and I told him that I couldn't feed him because whenever they get him back there, they'd give him medicine to relieve the pain and we certainly don't need him throwing up. We agreed that it was a better idea to go home, get a fresh ice pack, some Tylenol and some dinner, and get to bed at a reasonable hour, and that if it was still hurting in the morning, we'd call our doctor's office.

So, we checked out. We didn't even stick around for the triage nurse. We did go to the other lady who was at the registration desk and formally leave, because I don't need CPS on my ass for eloping from the ER with a kid with a broken goddamn arm. Right?

Oh snap! Kinda. It didn't completely break in two.

Anyway, so home, dinner, Tylenol, ice, bed. Woke up the next morning still hurting. Called our doc's office...and they were closed for a training...of course. So we went to the walk-in clinic and were seen pretty quickly. X-ray revealed that he had a buckle fracture, and so the doc put a splint on it and said he would put in a referral to the orthopedic clinic. But he didn't. And yes, I've already had a very long discussion with the folks at Patient Experience since the very first part of my hospital's Vision Statement was not upheld: "...will achieve excellence, and provide quality, value and safety in everything we do." The physician completely failed my pediatric patient by not speaking with him about his injury and defaulting to me, when my kid is completely capable of explaining himself. Also, the doc did not make the referral to the Ortho clinic. Oh, and he totally judged me for giving my kid Tylenol and not Advil. No, really. So, three strikes means I make a phone call. And, yes, I also let the Patient Experience lady know all about how the lady in the ER couldn't find my kid in the system. I learned that usually the walk-in clinic docs don't ordinarily make referrals to the orthopedic clinic, but that since the x-ray revealed my kid needed to be seen, the referral should have been made. But this doc, and his sanctimonious tone regarding me administering Tylenol and not Advil...he's probably the type of man that also feels free to make decisions about my uterus, so I'll refrain from commenting further.

Annnyyywwwaaayyy...

My kid wore the splint on his left arm for a week, which, of course, I know from experience is standard. During that time we went to the county fair and partied pretty hard. He did the rides he felt he could; we were thankful that the carnival staff even let him on.

My boys, partying hard at the county fair!

And the following Tuesday after his injury, we went to see Orthopedic Surgeon Dr. M, who, fortuitously, is part of our Hapkido family. She and her son have been part of the dojo for many years, and she knows our family dynamic and is pretty familiar with our family health history. I was anticipating a partial cast; my son was thinking that he'd just stay in the splint. And Dr. M is fantastic because when she examined him, she talked with him like he was a person who is capable of understanding what she was saying, and she said that she really felt, since he's a rather rambunctious young man, it was better to put a cast on his arm for a few weeks to prevent it from breaking further. Because, as I stated in Part 1: prevention works.

Left: 2018 buckle fracture on the left arm. Right: 2018 mega fracture on the right arm

Here's the deal as to why my kid is in a short-arm cast, which I'll all the Half-Assed, Half-Arm Cast. This is probably the first thing my family has ever done half-assed. So, the way this buckle fracture thing works, the bone is weaker in that area, and even though the doc at the walk-in clinic said being in a splint for 3-ish weeks is acceptable, Dr. M said that if my son were to punch a bag, or to wrestle with his brother and take a hit to his arm, the risk of his arm breaking is higher and then he'd have to wear a cast for a longer time. And no matter how old a person is, it's easier to wear a cast for three weeks than eight weeks. And given that Dr. M has spent years of her life helping people heal their BONES, we chose to listen to Dr. M and get the cast. My son was true to himself and chose purple, which has been his favorite color since he was a toddler. Last year he chose blue, because he experienced peer pressure and thought that boys were supposed to like blue. I know this because in discussion about choosing his cast color last year, he said "no, Mom, blue because all the boys like blue." Bless his heart.

He's not in any pain, and really, with this break, his ego is not his amigo. We're letting him be a kid, taking reasonable risks with his extra-curricular activities. He's learned that a Half-Assed, Half-Arm Cast is easier to manage than a Full-Assed, Full-Arm Cast.

He's able to be on the mat at Hapkido, supporting other students by teaching, and of course he's also learning a lot. He's able to do some Hapkido, but Mrs. V said no rolling, no throwing any punches, and no throwing people. He is able to do some techniques. He is able to do all of his kicks. But no bokkens, until his cast is off. And bokkens are his thing, so that's a bummer.

He is able to be on the soccer field and practice a little. He's mostly doing drills. His Dad is the assistant coach, and my husband played soccer for 20 years, so he and the head coach, who is also a Mom of one of the players, are putting some tight reigns on our son. Our 9-year-old is not permitted to play scrimmage because he certainly doesn't need to be taken down or tackled by another player. Any 1:1 work is against his head coach, because she's a bad ass and can hand him his ass in a nice way, without taking him down or causing further injury. We all know the other 9-year-olds on the field have no such discipline.

He'll start fourth grade on Tuesday with the cast on. He's carrying a black sharpie with him to get signatures, of course. The cast is scheduled to come off on Tuesday September 11th at 8:30 in the morning by Dr. M. His first soccer game is scheduled for September 15th, and we all anticipate he'll be on the field and capable of playing. I anticipate that the purple cast will be added to the art project that he'll create with the two blue casts from his right arm.

A Tale of Two Casts (Part 1)

This one's epic, so grab your favorite cuppa coffee or tea. Or perhaps it's a bong hit or stiff drink. Maybe a shot of apple cider vinegar...? Regardless, I encourage you to sit the eff down and settle in...this is the first in a two-part blog post, because the entire story is a doozy.

But first, you need the backstory, and this post is about the first broken arm my kid gave himself in 2017. The second post is about the second broken arm my kid gave himself in 2018.

And thanks in advance for reading about The Anderson Family Circus.

So, here's the deal with my younger son breaking his left arm on Tuesday August 21st, 2018: 

• It's not nearly as broken as y'all think it's broken
• It's certainly not as broken as his right arm was broken in the summer of 2017

Right arm, June 2017

On Friday June 9, 2017, there were only 7 days left in the school year, my younger son, who was in the second grade and had turned 8 about 6 weeks before, fell off the monkey bars during the first recess at school and landed wrong, breaking both his radius and ulna in his right forearm.

No, really. You have two bones in your forearm. And, yes, that's one hell of a way to get your first cast ever. Also, physics works: big lesson in Newton's universal law of gravitation.

I picked him up from school and took him to the emergency room, obviously. And, no, he was not trying to get away from a girl, like his father did when he was in the sixth grade...

Side note: when my husband was a child of about age 12, he jumped off a curb to get away from a girl, because apparently she had cooties, and he broke his ankle. So my husband, as an adult, has a lot of experience with dumbass shit boys do...and for that, I'm very thankful.

In the ER, June 2017

Anyway, my son's awesome second grade teacher, Mrs. N, even had a the kids make an gigantic "get well soon" poster and took a picture and texted it to me, which I showed him in the hospital. But he was pretty loopy on the pain killers and in shock from the entire experience, thinking he was going to go back to school that afternoon. He's very dedicated to his academics.

Anyway, so we came home from the ER and my kid had to spend a week in a temporary cast while we waited for the swelling to go down, which is, I learned, standard stuff.

Cool! No wrestling in the living room? Thank you, Jesus! Because we really don't need anything else broken, obviously. Especially the television, since you're going to need to park your ass, kid. And, hopefully, Please Jesus, this will cause my boys to tone it down about 12 million fucking levels. Seriously. Sometimes for a mental health break, I rub my eyes so hard and so long that I end up expressing gratitude that they don't accidentally pop out of their sockets. My eyeballs are in there really, REALLY, well. Also, sometimes I just need to see all the fractals my eyes can create naturally. You have your way of managing stress; I have mine.

At the end of about a week after his fall from the monkey bars at school, I took him in to see the orthopedic surgeon, as directed, knowing a full arm cast was eminent, and deeply worried about surgery, since my family has a history of things going to shit really unexpectedly and at lightening speed. Thankfully, there was no need for surgery, even though a good friend who is a pediatrician and knows my family very well, said so, I still worried because the shit my family deals with is borderline obscene. Either that or I really pissed people off in my previous lives.

Coolest cast ever, complete with glow-in-the-dark racing stripe!

Whatever.

So the full-arm cast went from the base of his knuckles on his right hand, all the way up his arm, around the elbow, and up to his armpit. The orthopedic surgeon wanted my son's arm as immobile as possible: no bending and/or straightening the elbow, and certainly no rotating the wrist and hand. He had limited mobility of his fingers and thumb. His arm was that fucked up. We Andersons don't do stuff half-assed. Only full-assed, if you will.

So, at the age of 8, for most of the summer, my son bravely wore his Full-Assed, Full-Arm Cast. He opted for a blue cast, complete with a glow-in-the-dark racing stripe down the entire thing. Because they had to give him something cool with this, right? Poor kid. Bless his heart.

The Physician's Assistant who casted my son's arm is a boy-girl parent and a boy's soccer coach, so he was pretty capable of working with me during the Mom of Boys Rundown: 

• your arm is not a weapon 
• no wrestling
• if you hit your brother with your arm you risk having to wear this cast longer than than the 8 weeks the doctor requires 
• your arm is gonna be pretty heavy and you may get tired and need to rest a bit more
• no Hapkido
• no soccer
• no swimming
• do not even go near the water or the lake or the beach 
• absolutely no playing with the hose
• you'll need your parents to help you take a shower, yes we'll use a full size 13-gallon trash bag



I & his BFF Miss C, who had a splint on
her right arm; kinda cute, kinda not for
them to match like that.

• your arm is not a gun, I know it's shaped like a gun, and yes, it'd be really cool as a flame thrower and yes, you can move your thumb and it could be your trigger, but YOUR ARM IS NOT A WEAPON OF ANY KIND 
• repeat as necessary; especially the "not a weapon" piece, with lots of vigor in your voice, because kids are feral.

He finished out the school year with lots of signatures on his cast, from classmates, teachers, and friends in other grades. I signed his cast first, obviously, because I called Mom Dibs. It's a thing. 

He went to all of his weekly appointments at the orthopedic surgeon, charming the lady X-ray Techs who got to know him well. And on June 22, only 2 days after school was out for the summer and the cast was full of signatures and art from his school friends, the x-ray revealed that his radius was bowing the wrong way. I'm not clinical, so bear with me, but the radius bone in our forearm is supposed to have a natural curve in it, and his curve was bending the opposite direction. Of course.

So the cast, with all of it's signatures, was cut off. They re-casted his arm, and then the orthopedic surgeon came in and bent my son's arm in the correct direction. No, really. Physics works like that. Also, this guy went to school for a really long time to be able to help people, and I reckon he took a lot of physics.

I was not with my son at this appointment, because I was with our older son in Seattle who had an appointment with his pediatric neurologist, of course, which was made months before my younger son even broke his arm. So my husband was with our younger son, and with what went down in the ortho clinic, I absolutely got the better deal when we divided and conquered. Also, women in America make 80% of health-care decisions for their families, which explains why I'm the Default

"Mom! Get a picture of me doing this!"

Take the Kids to the City for their Medical Appointments Parent...so...ya know, what can you do? It's in my DNA.

Anyway, as we were all sitting down at dinner later that day, talking about how each boy did at their respective appointments, my husband explained what happened. And, basically, when they re-casted our younger son's arm and applied pressure to get the correct curve in the bone, our son was sitting there, happy as a clam that there were THREE GROWN MEN in the room with him, giving him ALL THE ATTENTION, which is a big deal when you're 8 and have a broken arm, right? And when the surgeon applied the pressure to our son's arm, my husband said that he watched our son's face change from smiling and happy to shock and pain. There were a lot of tears, understandably, since I'm sure it hurt like a motherfucker. And, had The Mommy been in the room, I would've probably pulled some Hapkido on the doc and made him my bitch, all to get him off my kid. Right? Mommies, you're hearing me on this. But, The Daddy was in the room, so there was this sense of Suck-It-Up-Buttercup, which is exactly what the boy child needed at the time. Not that the they weren't compassionate, because my husband said that all three of the grown men in the room were helpful and compassionate. I mean, it's probably that gender specific kinship of taking a shot in the nuts. Or giving birth.

Every once in a while I get a great candid shot of my boy

Captain. Obviously.

So, new cast on, I called Mom Dibs to be the first one to sign the new cast, duh. And that summer he had a lot of other non-school friends sign his cast; the second cast is signed by a lot of the members of our Hapkido Family. Both of my sons walked in the Fourth of July parade with Hapkido. We made the best of the cards we were dealt. I mean, what the fuck else can we do?

My son participated in Arts Camp for the first time, where he was one of several dozen children who worked all week to create, act, and dance in a play with a Steam Punk theme. However, based upon the fact that they gave him very sharp adult size scissors and had him cut the tape open on a shipping box but instead he ended up cutting the shit out of his left thumb, causing me to end up wiping his butt for a week until the cut healed. I mean, they didn't even call me. Just, "here's your kid, oh and he's got a bandaid because he cut his thumb" and my kid's a very detailed story-teller, obviously, so he filled me in. Don't worry, I already talked to the woman who needed to know. Of course I did.

Busting his moves on stage during the play

Turns out, he had a well-child check that same afternoon and the doc said that a little skin glue could've helped, but that, unfortunately, it was too late because the blood had already coagulated and we'd have to stick with a bandage. The next morning, when I dropped my son off, I told the lady in charge what the doctor said because, seriously? In what universe is it safe to give an 8-year-old child wearing a Full-Assed, Full-Arm Cast a pair of ADULT SIZE SCISSORS that were sharp enough to stop a CHARGING FUCKING RHINOCEROS and say "sure you can break down this cardboard box"...?!?! Not asking for a friend.

Anderson Family Circus, post performance

I know he's incredibly confident, convincing, and has a keen eye for detail...believe me, he learns from the best. I am sure he told you multiple times all about how confident I am that he'll eventually write, star, produce and direct...and be the cameraman...for his first ever full-length film...for which he'll win ALL THE OSCARS...but he's 8. All four fingers on both hands. No thumbs. That gives you EIGHT. He. Is. EIGHT. Years. Old. And, even though he is super independent and clever and figured out, all on his own, how to wipe his butt with his left hand, we are now having to wipe his ass again...so, yeah...thanks for creating more work for me. And his brother is disabled and often times needs help wiping himself...so, my husband and I get to now help TWO BOYS wipe their asses. Of course. I recognize this was an unintentional injury, however it could've been prevented if you'd had the appropriate sized scissors. Prevention works.

Wonder Woman battle scene drawn by my kid with his non-dominant hand,
as indicated on the bottom line of the drawing (July 2017). This hangs next to my bed.

Yes, I'm aware that he is ambidextrous, as evidenced by the picture of the Wonder Woman Battle Scene that he drew WITH HIS LEFT HAND. But still, basically, my kid is DISABLED because he's got a Full-Assed Full-Arm Cast on his dominant side, for fuck's sake, so please do not give any children adult-size scissors, ever. Please always give them kid-size scissors. That's what Maria Montessori would have done. Annnndddd Dr. Montessori would never have asked a child to break down a cardboard box with adult size scissors. For reals. Even though they had cardboard boxes back in her day.

Waiting for 2 hours in the Lady ENT's office

Anyway...we spent the summer of 2017 going to all of the appointments required for his arm, which I can attest, beats the hell out of spending two summers in a row at the cancer center. But my husband had surgery that summer over in Seattle. And then, because the Lady ENT wasn't able to completely do what she needed to do in the operating room, all four members of the Anderson Family Circus went back over to Seattle for her do a procedure in clinic, which was the longest two hours ever. But, still, totally beats chemo and radiation on my boob and his throat. And, by the time we went, the second Full-Assed Full-Arm Cast had been removed and my son was able to both straighten and bend his elbow (what is that? Flexion and extension...? A&P wasn't really my thing....) He was also capable of playing on my old his iPhone, which was helpful when we went to the city for the ENT to laser my husband's throat...like she does.

Practicing writing numbers with his non-dominant arm

He did a lot writing and drawing that summer...and he did a little bit of gardening, because that's a reasonable risk, but the deal was he and his brother couldn't be in the garden with the hose on at the same time, because that's an accident waiting to happen. And we absolutely, positively, totally stayed away from the lake and the beaches. There was a firm "no" in me on that.

Cut it off!

A little bit of freedom!

When he did eventually have the cast taken off for good, I think we all anticipated that he'd be out doing all his usual shenanigans, because it's hard to keep a good man down. But we were all surprised to learn that a person's skin is incredibly sensitive when a cast is taken off. I mean, duh, because the skin hasn't seen the light of day or even any air on it for 8 weeks, so it totally makes sense. So, he didn't really push me on going to the beaches or the lake. We ended up going to the lake one time in the summer of 2017, and that was totally ok. "Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans." My family is becoming well versed in the fact that sometimes we don't get to have the experiences we anticipate.

My son's first ever experience in a cast took the wind out of his sails for a little bit. And, yes, he still has both casts in his closet in his bedroom, and he's planning on eventually using them for some sort of art project, obviously, because he's an artist.

On the one hand, I'm thankful my son had some hard lessons, I just wish they didn't have to happen so close together and at such a young age. On the other hand, the lessons he's having are, hopefully, molding him into a more resilient and compassionate person.

That was all the backstory...

You can read about the August 2018 broken arm in A Tale of Two Casts (Part 2).

Because, really, I can't even with this blog post anymore, you guys. I'm Jabbaed Out.

Camp: We All Survived

Because my life is deliciously full...sometimes I'm a little slow to update my blog. Sorry; not sorry. This is the first summer since 2014 that our calendar has not been burdened with oppressive medical appointments and I'm learning to enjoy a bit of freedom away from hospitals and cancer centers.

Anyway, last month, my sons both went to sleep-away camp for the first time ever, and we all survived.

We dropped them off on mid-morning on Monday, and didn't see them until mid-day on Wednesday. It was a little slice of heaven for about 48 hours for my husband and I.

The person who was to be in charge of our child who has special needs was a Rock Star. In working with the camp co-director in preparing for this major life-altering event, I asked her if I should type up some information that would help everyone, you know, like you do...even if it's before leaving your child with a brand new kid sitter before going out to dinner for 3 hours. She felt that would be a good idea.

I managed to get most everything onto one page using an 11 point font, with 0.75" margins. Because he's a handful. Not in a bad way. But, for reals, he can be challenging to manage. He's kind like a Husky puppy that weighs 133 pounds and doesn't realize how big he is and that type of thing needs a little...support. He's not a bull in a China shop. He's definitely gotten better and more aware of his surroundings because his vestibular sense has improved.

Annnnyyyyywaaaaaayyyy.....

So we met the Rock Star Counselor and got checked in and made our way down to the cabin where the boys were going to be staying. They were bunk mates, with our younger son on the top bunk, just like at home. They were in with the littles: the kids who were 7 and 8 and it was their first time at camp, too. Fantastic!

I handed the Rock Star Counselor the one-page summary of my kid, including what his typical seizure looks like and how long they last, directions on what to do if he seized longer than 5 seconds, if he sees my son have more than 25-30 seizures in a 24 period (I know it sounds like a lot...but this is a kiddo who used to seize 250 or more in a 24 hour period...so 10% of that is reasonable for me). I also included his medication list, correct dosage amount and time/frequency of dose. Phone numbers for me, my husband and our family physician's office. And to make sure that if he has a seizure that lasts more than 30 seconds, just call 911 and then get his brother because he knows what's within the range of normal and will be able to help answer questions and he'd provide support by just being there.

I started helping the boys unpack and the Rock Star Counselor looked up at me and said, "What do I do to de-escalate him?"

Fuck. I forgot to include that. You are human and make mistakes and can't think of everything, Rachel.

Shit! He speaks DD! Of course he does because he has a Bachelor's in Special Education and he worked in the classroom but left because paperwork (not judging; I totally get it! SpEd Teachers do more paperwork than providing direct services to students!) and now he works with adults who have I/DD and helps them integrate into the community and I love him and he is a ROCK STAR!!!

"Well, he's developmentally about five, so distraction is good," I said. "Singing Beatles songs is also a go-to for him."

"Got it!" said the Rock Star Counselor.

And I knew that, by the time we'd pick the boys up in 48 hours, the Rock Star Counselor was going to have a firm understanding of my kid.

We left the cabin, headed down to the lake, and looked at the dock. We chatted about the importance of staying on the trails but not running; nobody want's to slip and have gravel picked out of his knees. The Rock Star Counselor asked the boys if they were going to do the Polar Bear Swim in the morning. They had no clue what that even was, so he kindly explained. The boys were both a bit excited and a bit apprehensive at the idea of jumping into a glacier-fed lake first thing in the morning.

We headed back up to the lodge, where the campers were getting ready to eat lunch. The menu consisted of corn dogs, with a side of mac and cheese, which resulted in an overjoyed older boy, and a younger boy who may have gagged...or even vomited in his mouth a little.

My husband and I said our goodbyes, gave and received many hugs and kisses from our sons, and left, enjoying the deafening silence in the car. We immediately went to our favorite Mexican Restaurant for lunch. No, we did not drink margaritas...not my drug of choice, duh. Also, post chemo, one drink of alcohol creates the feeling of a major hangover...so, no.

Anyway...so we got to be grown-ups for 48 hours and it was fucking delicious! On Tuesday morning we got up early and my husband drove us down to Tacoma, while I worked on attaching a binding to a quilt by hand (because my quilter friends taught me the right way!). We chose Tacoma over Seattle because we didn't' want to deal with the ferry and Seattle traffic and parking. We went to Half-Price Books, because we're book whores. And we went to the Apple Store, because our iPhones needed to have the batteries replaced (yes, we had an appointment. We're not the type of people to spontaneously go to a major city and expect to be seen without an appointment. Because we're on a time crunch, here, people!). And we ate lunch at The Cheesecake Factory, but we didn't' take any pictures of our food because our phones were not with us...which was actually delightful! Oh! And See's Candy gave us free samples...so then we felt obligated and we bought a bunch of chocolate. Duh. But it was gone before we made it back to the Peninsula. I'm not buying chocolate for the boys. Whatever, they want for nothing. And finally, after picking up our phones, we went to my favorite store, Lover's Package...because sex is a hobby we can do together and we're at the Boss Level. No, I'm not providing details. And, no we're not streaming a live demo on YouTube. Or on Fuckbook. It's a thing. You're welcome.

So, we picked the boys up on Wednesday, just before lunch and they were on goddamn fire. Well, the older one was exhausted, and the younger one was pissed off at whatever, because he's 9 and he and his brother were having what the Rock Star Counselor described as "brother stuff" and we all know what that means...so whatever, bitches, it's time to go.

It took us a full hour to leave the camp...because we, as parents, needed to check in with the Rock Star Counselor and the Co-Director, and, good problem to have: the boys didn't want to leave. They used the bathroom about 12 more times, each got a slice of pizza from the Master Chef, gave high fives to their counselors, with promises to see each other next summer. WIN!

We were told they got a little bit homesick on Tuesday evening, but that that's pretty normal. They did do the Polar Bear swim on BOTH mornings, and immediately warmed up with cups of hot cocoa, and then a Klondike Bar...like ya do.... They spent the first night in the lodge, watching a movie with all the boys and staying up about three hours past their usual bedtime. We knew, based upon our conversations with the Co-Director in our planning, that this would happen...and we anticipated fall out...but it wasn't as bad as we'd thought it would be.

They each looked as though they didn't sleep, but also looked as though they had aged just a smidge. The older one said he took all of his meds, and I trust that he did. He said he didn't have a lot of seizures, and I trust that he didn't He said his favorite part of camp was going in the canoe with his brother and the Rock Star Counselor. The younger one said that he learned that when he has to go, he really can poop anywhere and use scratchy toilet paper. He said his favorite part of camp was hanging out with his BFF, the daughter of the Co-Director, and that next year, he wants to be there for the entire three weeks that she's there. They also said their favorite part was swimming in the lake and eating all the food and sleeping in the cabins and that they absolutely, positively have to go again for a week next summer and that is something my husband and I completely support.

The days following camp were not as bad as we had anticipated. They were tired, and it took them a few days to recover. But we didn't see as many seizures as we thought we would; and my hope that he'll eventually grow out of his epilepsy was renewed...because you just don't give up hope on something like that. Or I don't, anyway....

They came away with an incredible experience, and grew as individuals and in their own relationship as brothers. We are all very thankful for the opportunity, experiences, and support that was provided by the Co-Directors and the counselors and are very much looking forward to summer 2019.