Three is Apparently NOT a Charm

Because our life isn't complicated enough; because I covet a friendly visit from the local child protection agency; because bad luck apparently does NOT come in threes--because of all of this, C. Peevie decided to break his arm on Friday night.

I am not even kidding.

This is the fourth broken bone among the Peevies in eight months. After nearly 13 years of parenting with zero visits to the orthopedic surgeon, we now have Dr. Todd Simmons on speed dial. We see him so often that he recently friended me on FB and we decided to start a book club together. Our first title is The Lovely Bones, by Alice Sebold.

OK, none of that is true. Except the broken bone part. THAT part is true. C. Peevie was ice skating with his buddies Harmonica and G-Man, plus HarDad. They started playing hockey with a couple of younger girls who, C. Peevie said, totally schooled them. (I love the idea of little girls who are really good at ice hockey.)

Anyway, C. Peevie fell on the ice, stopping his fall with his hands. He came home favoring his left arm, and we wrapped and iced it, hoping for the best. The next morning it was still tender and sore, so we headed over to the pediatrician, and then to the hospital for an x-ray. No surprise: the x-ray showed a hairline fracture just above the wrist. We've been keeping it wrapped, and C. Peevie is attempting to make the most of it.

"Mom!" he hollered from another room. "Can you bring me the laptop?"

I walked into the living room and confronted him. "Honey, your leg is not broken," I said. "Get up and get it yourself."

"But my arm. Is broken," he said piteously. "I can't carry it."

"You have another arm," I said unsympathetically. And just to be clear: By this time, his pain was well under control.

"But Mom!" he said, "I can't carry the laptop AND the cord AND the charger! Please!"

"Seriously, C. Peevie," I said, unmoved. "The last thing I need is you acting all helpless. If you want the laptop, you can get up and get it yourself."

"Humph," he grumbled, and then he stomped off up the stairs, picked up the laptop, and brought it down to his apartment, I mean, to his usual divot on the couch.

I can dish out the empathy and concern when pain is involved. But when the meds have kicked in, I have a zero tolerance policy for helplessness. I HATE helplessness. It makes me INSANE.

Fortunately, C. Peevie already had an appointment scheduled for follow-up on his healing tibial fracture for today. Nurse Gail said, no problem, we'll piggy-back the arm and the leg on the same appointment. By day's end we'll be a two-cast family.

I figure, things could be worse. Way worse. Like, if we had no health insurance. Or if C. Peevie had cracked his head open instead of hurting his arm.

I'm thinking I should either invest in a truck full of bubble wrap, or I should buy stock in cast supplies.

UPDATE: It's not broken. Doc says hospital radiologist hedged his bets by calling it a "possible" hairline fracture;" but in reality? Not so much. So C. Peevie is officially off the orthopedic hook.

Yeah!