My little boy broke his leg this past week. His Femur, clean in half. I could describe the events that led up to it, I could describe how I beat myself up for the 48 hours following it, I could tell you how when I'm trying to fall asleep at night visions of that wobbly leg come back to me, making me toss and turn and pray for peaceful dreams. But telling you that it was by far the scariest day of my life is sufficient enough.
We quickly knew he'd be alright. Well, it actually felt like an eternity--but in the grand scheme of things...
We were told he'd have to wear a body cast. There goes summer. Would he be able to walk when it came off? Would we have to start school late? He had been talking about the State Fair since his grandparents brought him home from it LAST YEAR. The boy was excited to go. A body cast would have made it impossible. I kept thinking about how disappointed he would be. How I let him down.
His daddy stayed the night with him at the hospital, because he's a daddy's boy and siblings aren't allowed past eight. I think it was best anyway since Ruza was really starting to bug him and she really didn't understand and couldn't handle what was going on(she's still been very needy of our attention, but loves helping Eli out, so I try to make everything we must do for him about something SHE gets to help us with, and that seems to work out just fine). Still- I couldn't bear to leave him, adding to my guilt.
I came back the the hospital with such a shock the next morning to find out he was in surgery. Surgery. Kevin explained to to me best he could, but the poor guy barely got any sleep the night before and couldn't really describe the moon to my liking even on a good day. I was worried, but held on to the little information I had via the Kev-filter. The surgeon said with the surgery he would be more comfortable during the rest of the summer, and he would be able to move around more. Most importantly, he wouldn't have a body cast. Alright, I'd just have to put my trust in Kevin and the Surgeon now, there wasn't anything else i could do.
My worry quickly subsided when I noticed I wasn't the only mother in the waiting room that was crying. My child only had a broken leg. He was having surgery so he could be outside and feel a sprinkler. I KNEW he'd be alright. After overhearing another surgeon talk to another family, I knew the future wasn't so certain for the rest of those mothers just yet. When I was sitting in the recovery room with my sleeping boy amidst all the other children and crying babies, I heard a mother(who sounded MUCH stronger than I ever could) reply to a nurse about her infant "No, this isn't his last heart surgery" and went on to mention how she had three other children at home. Good lord.
Since we've been home I can't help but think of all of them. Some are still at the hospital waiting, wondering, some have to take their children back for more heart surgeries. I won't even talk about the scream I heard coming from the Blood Disorder and Cancer wing as I was walking to the elevator towards recovery. We just have a little boy with a broken leg. Thank God for that, we are lucky indeed.