“We don’t want to wrist the risk!” I warned this morning. “Oh, scratch that. Reverse it.”
Perhaps you caught the post where I mentioned my older son broke his wrist. Thank you for the kind wishes for a speedy recovery.
When I imagined all the potential injuries my kids might have growing up, this particular one seemed much worse than it’s turning out to be.
Sure there was the late night trip to an overflowing emergency room full of characters and germs. He was in pain, but managed mostly to hold it in. There was a wince if his arm moved or got bumped, but none of the writhing and moaning that I’ve seen at rinks and on fields before. He walked out of the ER splinted and bandaged so his arm was three times its normal size and dangling in a sling. His coat draped over his shoulder to shield the bandages from the pouring rain on the way to the car.
And he did wake up the next morning with a thumb swollen to the size of a grapefruit…OK, maybe more like a clementine. Showering involved a trash bag and a roll of tape; that was kind of a hassle.
But the orthopedic office took us in an hour after I called. They took one look at the bandage and sling and quipped, “I have no idea why they gave you that sling. We really don’t do that anymore.” They unraveled the ace bandages and peeled him out of the cottony splint. Then, without any drama, the doctor proceeded to explain the kind of break my son has. He even googled a picture of the Salter 3 fracture compared to the other Salter breaks to show us where we were on the spectrum of trouble.
Turns out, he’s in pretty good shape.
He walked out of that appointment with a removable velcro splint (much easier for the shower!). His arm even fit through the sleeve of his coat as we dodged sleet to get to the car. More importantly he walked out with some hope that, possibly, he’d be ready for try outs in a few weeks. There was also some chance he could play in the state tournament in less than two weeks…albeit with some risk to the wrist. He felt better knowing he had some control over that decision.
As for what else he can and can’t do…Homework? Yes, because while he plays hockey lefty, he writes with his right. That’s one for the mom.
Video games? Also yes. That’s one for the kid.
Folding laundry? Yes. Carrying laundry baskets? No.
Emptying the dishwasher? Mostly, yes! Emptying the recycling? Much to his brother’s chagrin, no.
So all in all, this isn’t remotely as bad as I’d imagined. Things rarely are. (If only we remembered that ahead of time!)
We’ll still have a hilly couple of weeks waiting and wondering about whether (or when) he should play. After all, we don’t want to wrist the risk.