Arm in Two

Dear Peach,

Each night we take you to your room and you settle comfortably in your bed snoozing, and we leave you to your rest.  By 3am you're creeping into our room each night because you need snuggles and Mama and Daddy.   We welcome you in, you need us, we are there for you and your poking arms, pushing legs and whines for, "more water, Mama!"  We are there for you when you twist and turn upside down in bed wedging your stinky feet under my nose.  This particular night, the 21st, you fell out of bed, you have before, but before carpet greeted you, not uncompromising solid bamboo floors. At the thud we shot up in bed and did the regular pull of the lamp cord, the customary once over to make sure you're fiiii....uh, no...you are most certainly not fine. Your arm looks like a noodle.  I told Daddy that we need to go to the hospital, your arm is without a doubt broken. He was trying to see but the situation with your noodle arm was intense and I had to get you moving. I woke up poor Henry, who was in the deepest sleep I've ever seen him in, with screams to get in bed with Daddy. You weren't crying, you just breathed through it and said you felt a little afraid.  I got my coat and wrapped the blue cheetah print scarf Heather gave me from France around your shoulders and your wilted arm to secure it. 

I kissed your dad and we were out the door. Just before sliding back the van door you whimpered to me, "I'm gonna try to be brabe, mama."  I told you, "No worries, baby girl. Brave looks like a lot of different things and if crying makes you feel better right now you can do it."  "OK, mama, I lub you."  The ride there you were starting to talk about how scared you were, how you needed your arm and just wanted it back again.  I explained what would happen when we got to the hospital and started singing a song to you.  "You are my sunshine..." and the sweetest little weak voice joined from the back.
Leaving a couple of red lights behind and deserted early morning streets, we arrive to the ER and I can feel your body tensing backward while each step goes forward, increasing the tension until you break a little squeak about how you need your arm and you don't want it cut off.  Getting to your eye level I stopped in the parking lot to tell you that in fact you would keep your arm and the doctor would fix it you breathed in between clinched teeth and said ok freely entered the slow ER.  We got in immediately and with glazed eyes you'd occasionally hold out your arm to the nurses or doctor like, "can you believe it?!"  X-ray come in and you had broken both your radius and ulna near the wrist.  The doctor would have to give you a sedative so they could pull your bones back into place and then manipulate them as close to normal position as possible.  They left and a tech came to take more information.  As he was collecting your name, address and size I looked over at you to find your color had changed to a weird green pale, lips were white and you started in a panic that your tummy felt very funny and very hot.  Shock had taken you and you stopped responding to me, your pulse and blood pressure had dropped and I called in a nurse quickly.  You were passed out and we set your head back and you came back around.  They started an IV that any big person would struggle with the 5 minutes of digging the needle into your tiny arm.  You fade out with eyes rolling about.  You overheard the staff say that to come home you would have to wake up first so they could make sure you didn't get sick.  This caused you to struggle against the sedative. 

Your eyes would pop own wide and wild and you'd smile a weird rubbery smile and say, "I'm awake!"  Then you'd drift off again.  (Days later when you recounted the sleepy medicine you said, "You know when they gave me that sleepy medicine at the hospital?  Well you were like an alien and the doctors were like aliens.  You had eyes all over your face, here, and here and here and here and your mouth was big and your teeth were like all over here, BUT when I heard you talking to me and singing to me and felt you holding my hand I knew it was my mama so I didn't get scare."  MELT.) I held your warm little hand and rubbed your fingers.  I said, "Don't worry babe, you'll be just fine in a minute."  You don't like me to call you babe.  Every time I say it to your quick response follows, "Don't call me babe, that is what you call Daddy.  Call me sweetie or peach."  No sedative kept that from happening. Finally, they fit you with a splint and we got to return home about 5:30AM.  You fell right to sleep snuggled next to Daddy. 

Then, the next morning, we all went to the hospital with you to get your cast done.  The tech kept asking what color you wanted for your cast.  Her suggestions of solely pink and purple put you off and you looked her with narrowed eyes and said in a drawn out tempo, "BLACKKKK... I want black."  The tech made sure by saying, "Don't you want something prettier?" "NO! Black!"  Henry was such a big support to you. He cuddled you in the hospital bed and tried to be super nice to you.  He was sure worried about his Hazey.

You wore the black cast for two weeks and today we found out one bone slipped further out of place.  You had to get the black cast cut off, and though the sound was loud and you got sweaty and nervous you did great.  This time, of your own accord you chose PURPLE. 

You are one tough and brave kid, and you can do anything you put your mind to.  I am super proud of you.  It looks like another 5 weeks of an elbow cast and then a shorter cast.  Poor thing is a little unhappy you won't get to use the hot tub at Grandma P's and Bahboo's this weekend.  I just want you to heal well with a powerful arm.  I love you sweet pea.  
Love, Mama