Tuesday, June 5, 2007
It doesn't matter how old your kids are, when they get sick or hurt, they still call Mom.
Bryan, the handsome guy in the photo to the right, works construction. He called me yesterday, about 9:30 AM.
Bryan : Hi Mom, what time are you taking your lunch hour?
Me: (knowing he never calls during work) I can take it anytime, what's up?
Bryan: Well do you think you could get some ice packs and Ibuprofen and bring it to my house?
Me: Sure ... what happen?
Bryan: Nothing, I fell about 8 feet from scaffolding and I think my ankle is sprained, or torn ligaments, but not broken.
Me: (*Accck*Panic*Worry*) Okay Bryan, I'll be there in 15 minutes.
When I got there and saw he had grown a cankle, I knew we were going to end up in ER.
One four letter word screaming woman in the next examining room, two rounds of x-rays, one crying (understandable) kid getting stitches across the hall, two injections of pain meds, a plaster splint, one guy (chest pains) calling a broker about how much money an account lost, crutches and a script for Vicodin and after six hours in ER,we were on our way.
Tomorrow, we go see an orthopedic surgeon to see if the tears will heal on their own or if they need surgical prompting. The upside ... private practice, sound proof walls, undivided attention.