Just call me Calamity Jane

It all started Wednesday. I took Roland for his first physical therapy session; he has torticollis, a common developmental problem involving neck muscles and the infant’s head tilting to one side. I was hoping to get an “all clear” from the therapist. I didn’t. He needs more therapy and an eval from the plagiocephaly clinic, where he may be fitted with a helmet to fix his misshapen head. While hearing this, I had to excuse myself to chase down John every 5 minutes. You see, a physical/occupational therapy center just looks like a playground to him. Then Roland decided he’d had it with PT and opened his mouth to scream; I saw white patches. Yep. Another thrush infection.

So I go out to the lobby to do the financials, holding Roland on my lap while telling John not to swing from the counter. I get John to sit next to me, but not for long. He runs off. Not wanting to put my infant down in a public place, I carry Roland in the crook of my left arm while I take off after John. “John!” He laughs and runs away. I run to him and grab his hand. “Come on.” He throws himself on the floor and laughs. “Honey, I need you to get up and walk.” I pull on his hand, and he resists. Then I feel it—a snap.

Oh no. We go back to the Registration desk, and his arm is hanging funny at his side. He cries. I ask if a doctor can see him. “No, our urgent care facility is not open until 6. Call your pediatrician.” The personnel at the outpatient center tell me what my son has is nursemaid’s elbow, a dislocation common in little kids. The name comes from the days when a family of means employed a “nursemaid” to care for a passel of kids, and she struggled to control them.  Of course, I feel terrible.

We go to the pediatrician, where Dr. Goodlander pulls John’s arm out of socket and puts it back amid much crying. She checks it—it’s in. So I thought, “Maybe we’re home free.” But no. Later that evening, John, still very active, trips over his brother’s toy and falls on the bad arm. Ouch. The next day. John’s left arm still hangs at his side.  No amount of cajoling will get him to use it. So we go back to the doctor’s office. Dr. Kellogg resets it twice, and tells me that he should be using it by now. She refers us to the main location of Children’s Hospital, 45 minutes away.

Well, you know the drill with the ER. Even with a call-ahead from you doctor, it takes forever. We arrived at 7:15. Triage shortly thereafter. Waiting. Dirty diapers. Mostly, Jeremy chased John around while I nursed Roland under a shawl. I was so thankful to have Jeremy there. We got to an exam room close to 9, and John and I are called to X-ray. “Hey, John, X is for X-ray!” He remembered this from his alphabet book. He was all excited until he had to sit on my lap and wear a lead apron to protect his gonads. I held on to the apron for dear life, thinking of my future grandkids.

Some guy came in at 11 to wrap John’s arm in a splint. I was a little irked that we had not seen the orthopedist yet. But later, an MD explained the X-ray showed a possible hairline fracture, and that it was better to have Ortho look at it in a couple of weeks after healing. It seems impossible that this “mean mama” broke his arm when I pulled him to his feet…that probably happened when he fell.

So we packed up, sat in the McDonald’s drive-thru at 12:15 AM, and finally got to bed around 2. Here’s John enjoying his fries:

A warning to all parents and future parents: it is very easy to injure a strong-willed toddler in your attempt to corral him. Grab a kid around the waist, not by the hand. A two-year-old instinct is for control, and he’ll fight you, not understanding you only want to keep him safe. Next thing you know, he’s all out of joint.

Hopefully, it will heal well. He's hanging tough.