Tuesday, May 21, 2013

Breaking Buddies

No Harar misfortune is complete without company.  Therefore, when I broke my pinkie six weeks ago, I should have known that another breakage was lurking around, just waiting for the right moment to claim another victim. 

Let's start with me, however.  I wish I had some fantastic story to share about how I saved a baby bird from falling to its death by streaking across the lawn, still wet from the previous night's storm, and slipped, catching the bird but breaking my pinkie in the process.

But I don't.  My story is really lame and makes me look ridiculous.  On Sunday night, in my excitement to show my parents the laminate samples we'd picked out at Home Depot, I raced out their garage door, bounded exuberantly down the stairs and happened to bring my arm down in a skippy-swingy type motion at the same time.  I whacked my hand on my mom's car and subsequently tore the tendon on my pinky, chipping off a piece of bone.

The worst part about this break was not the pain, but rather then foul smell that emanated from my bandage at the end of the six weeks.  Also, my pinkie will forever bend slightly to the left and look bumpy.    
You can see the break!  Poor baby!
Just two weeks after I got the okay to remove the splint, I received a phone call at work.  This is very bad, because the school has a lovely process that all phone calls go straight to voice mail unless it is an emergency.  So, while I can put off the phone conversation with an angry parent who wants to rip me a new one, I also am terrified to answer the phone when it does ring for fear of what awaits me on the other line. 

I had good reason to worry, because it was the school nurse, calling to inform me that I needed to take my son to the emergency room to get an x-ray. 

I rushed to his school, hurried to the hospital, carried all 55 stocky pounds of him from the parking lot into the emergency room (no easy feat, let me tell you) and awaited the bad news.  It was, in fact broken, which I pretty much already knew by the extreme amount of pain on my poor baby's face.  they moved us to a room with a television so he could watch SpongeBob, which he found even funnier after they doped him up with pain meds.  Two hours later, we left the hospital with a splint and instructions to take him to an Orthopedic Surgeon to get a cast the next day.

On a side note, the first thing everyone asks someone who has a cast is, "What happened?!"  Joey started out by telling everyone the entire story, which lasted close to 5 minutes.  Either he picked up on their boredom one minute in or grew tired of telling the same story over and over, but to my immense relief he found a shortened ten second version and has stuck with that one over the past week. 

I don't think there should be any more, because my sister broke her hand in January, and that makes three.  I can't believe karma is mad enough to come at me with any more this year. 

Beth - 0
Joey - 0
Bones - 0

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