Baby's got a blue cast on

Damn, I haven't written a post in forever, but tonight I definitely need to ramble on about the last 24hr.

Yesterday, I woke up with that shiny glowy happy feeling that lets me know it's going to be a great day. You know, the kind of day where everything looks fresh and clean. The little baby grass just starting to grow contrasting with the tree leaves turning their myriad shades of red, gold and brown. That beautiful day after a storm that makes you glad to be outside, even if it's at lunch yard duty with 200 screaming 1st and 2nd graders.

I was walking the beat, scaring the 1st grade boys out of playing in the A-wing bathroom while simultaneously mediating a verbal abuse accusation of the sydney-called-me-a-loser variety when a pack of kids ran up to inform me my daughter cut her lip and was in route to the nurse's office with a 5 friend escort. I gave her 5 minutes to obtain her standard issue ice pack and return to the classroom where I thought I'd meet her to check out her lip before moving on to monitor the 3-4 graders whose playground shift was just starting. Gwen had the littlest cut below her lip, but she was still sobbing and something about her just didn't seem right.

"My arm! Hurts mommy! It hurts!" She barely got the words out between gasping sobs.
Gwena loves the drama, but it's not like her to carry it too far, so I thought we'd go to the pediatrician and check it out. So a bit frazzled, we left school, forgetting to sign either of us out and leaving the school secretary in charge of the 200 3rd and 4th grade monkeys pretending to be human children on the playground.

I called ahead from the car to the pediatrician's office, but they didn't have an appointment available until 3:45pm....
"But I think she may have broken her arm. Should I proceed to Emergency??"
"That would be up to you if you think it's an emergency"
"And there's nothing sooner than 3:45pm?? She's in a lot of pain."
"Nope, our earliest is 3:45"
"I'll take it"

But I wouldn't really. I decided to stop in at the urgent care clinic first, I mean, it must be called the "urgent care clinic" for a reason right....like if say you needed urgent care? Somewhere between a blood gushing emergency and a routine pap smear? But what do I know?

"I think my daughter may have broken her arm. Can you see her here?"
"It depends. Have you called your primary care physician?"
"Yes, but they can't see her until 3:45 and it's just noon now...."
"If your doctor has agreed to see you then we can't see you here. Your insurance might not pay for the visit. You have an HMO."

Crud! Crud! Crud! I'm going to have to go to the ER. I hate the ER! They're going to make us wait forever! Walking across the lobby, while explaining to my six-year-old that health care sucks in warm fuzzy parent speak, I ran into another parent from Gwen's school. His daughter has been one of my school play students for the last two years. I think I've spoken five word to him in total since I met him 2 years ago and they were probably all months apart.

"Hey, what are you two doing here?"
"I think she might have broken her arm at recess today."
"Wouldn't they see you upstairs?"
"No, they said they couldn't...something to do with my insurance and my doctor being able to see us later today."
"Now much later?"
"3:45"
"That's not right. Let go upstairs and talk to them."

Ok, that's fine. We can go upstairs again...up until I ran into him I thought he worked as an engineer somewhere in town, but he must work at the hospital and he's definitely not the janitor either. He knew the receptionist by name, she stammered and stuttered "but her insurance!" So he asked if he could call over to my pediatrician's office. He knew the head nurse by name. I'd never even met her. Then he smiled. "Your doctor can see you now." And Jordan's daddy officially became my hero.

The pediatrician's office was closed for lunch. I forgot all about lunch! It was a ghost town, but the head nurse greeted us at the door. Offered Gwen water. Shook my hand. I have never in my life been treated like that in a doctor's office, but it must be just like a celebrity would be treated, like a princess with a paper cut. It was then that a black sticky dread started to fill my belly. Gwen's stopped crying, she's started to move her arm all around. People are going without lunch to help us, receptionist I spoke to early has been "talked to" and I may forever be known as the hypochondriac mom who pulled her child from school , involved a hospital big wig and made 3 nurses and one doctor miss their lunch over her child's mildly bruised arm. Yuck, yuck, yuck! Oh, dear god, let it be broken. "What! Did I even think that!" Let it be a bruise. Maybe a sprain......that's the middle, right?

So off to the X-ray lab for an hour to sit, to wait, to dread, and to watch my daughter being so good, so patient, so brave. She's trying to make me laugh, holding my hand and apologizing to me like I was the one sitting in pain. My Gwena can be the most amazing child when she wants to be. So I tickled her and made her laugh, and showed her funny pictures from a month old People magazine, until it was her turn to get her picture taken. The nurse promised she'd try not to hurt Gwen. I knew she meant while moving her arm for the picture, but Gwen didn't know what she meant. When the machine took the picture it made such a horrendous scary noise Gwen started crying again. Two more scary pictures and we were back in the car with x-ray film in our hand.

"Can I peek at the pictures, Gwen?"
"No Mommy. Don't peek."
"I'll just look for a second."
"Mommy, NOO! I don't want to know yet."

Back at the pediatricians office, I hand the film over to the receptionist, who hands it to the nurse, who hands it to the doctor, who brings us over to the bright white box where we see Gwen's little arm looking perfectly like a miniature version of the Halloween skeleton still up in our garage until the doctor shows us the little crack clear through the radius bone just above her wrist. Yep, that would be broken.

"Do I get a cast mommy?"
"I don't know it depends on the bone doctor."
"Kushi's cast was red and up to here on her arm, and Victoria's cast went down to her fingers from here."
"But I don't know if you'll even get a cast."
"What will I get?"
"I don't know let's go see the bone doctor."

We sat at the orthopedic doctor's office, once again waiting our turn, listening to a teenage boy complain about his wrist cast next door. I worried that his talk would scare Gwen, but it just made her giggle as the boy explained how he was just going to cut the cast off himself when he got home. As the boy argued with his mom, a new nurse came to see us.

"What color cast would you like?" And Gwen's face lit up like a sunrise as she pause to celebrate her good fortune. With the celebretory butt wiggle Gwen always executes when she's happy,
"Light blue." she said.