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.