If you’ve never seen a dislocated wrist, I’d suggest not volunteering to go look at one if you’re ever given the option. I had the misfortune of seeing one on my own son last weekend at his football match. It doesn’t take much to dislocate a 12-year-old’s wrist, it seems. Upon his fourth or fifth tumble of the game, one that seemed more innocuous than the others, he leapt to his feet yelping in pain, and clutching his arm. Parents, coaches and players clustered around him immediately, each gasping as they arrived – his wrist was bent at an improbable angle, and his hand was standing grotesquely atop a hill of skin and flesh that rose steeply from his forearm. I was horrified, a reaction that manifested itself in stark silence and a firm grip on his shoulders.
Misfortune, however, often has more favourable bedfellows, it seems, and so far we’ve encountered two.
First was the hospital experience that followed. Lucky for us, one of Julius’ teammates has a nursing couple as parents – his mother was at the game, and she took immediate charge, rushing us off to the hospital where her husband works. Although he was off duty at the time, he called ahead and so the emergency receptionists were primed for our arrival, and after checking in – a matter of 30 seconds – Julius was whisked off for X-rays and thence to the orthopedic surgeons, who said he’d need an operation to put the wrist back in place and insert a few pins to stabilize it. Unfortunately for him though, he had to wait some 4 hours because of the minimum time required after his last meal before a general anesthetic can be administered – his
All was well after the op, however, and Julius was all smiles when he came round and found himself pain-free. I spent the night in hospital with him, a rather sleepless affair as a result of the noisy (vocal and other) ablution attempts of the septuagenarian in another of the ward’s beds.
As a hospital experience, it was class A+. The only “forms” I had to deal with involved (a) supplying Julius’ name when we came in (they pulled up all his details immediately from a previous visit) and (b) signing acknowledgement that I was going to sleep the night. In the morning, we were out of there by
The second positive outcome came from the outpouring of support and sympathy from Julius’ teammates, their parents, and his coaches. He received numerous visitors in the short time he was in the hospital, among them the director of the football club. He was also asked to a special presentation after the team’s last game, where he was given a football signed by all of the boys. No other awards, just one for Julius. I’ve told him the football should never be kicked around, and that it should take pride of place amongst his keepsakes, one that will trigger a warm glow every time he has cause to look at or touch it.
Needless to say, the cast on his arm is something of a status symbol amongst his schoolmates, and it has the added benefit of freeing him of the burden of homework and tests, given that it’s his writing hand (“Damn!” he said with a wry smile). Thankfully there’s only a few weeks left before the end of term, so we’re hoping there’s no loss on the learning side. It’s also given him a “handy” excuse when it comes to housework, although the other side of that coin is that he can no longer go footballing in the local village square. At least not until the pins come out and the cast comes off on June 17th, when he will hopefully recount yet another smooth visit to the hospital in Macerata.
1 comment:
Ouch!!!! Glad to hear things went relatively smoothly after the break. My nephew broke his arm when he was about 7 or 8--and I thank goodness it was his other auntie who was there with him at the time to see that strange angle :(
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