Is That Irony? I don’t think I understand Irony….

So literally as I am writing my last blog, my daughter starts screaming from the basement.  I ignore her.

Now, in my defense, she screams all the time.  She is like a siren.  She has been referred to as ‘Screechy’.  She screams, it’s what she does.

So, she’s screaming downstairs and I’m ignoring her.  I believe I call down that if there is something wrong to come up and tell me what it is.  She doesn’t.  So I finish typing and grab the KD off the stove, serve it and call her up for lunch.  She still won’t come.  I have mild concern at this point, since she subsists on KD and loves it like a best friend.  So I go downstairs.  I ask what is wrong.  She tells me she fell of the couch.

Now, in my defense, she is lying directly in front of the couch, on a big blanket.  Really?  a half a foot drop onto a fleece blanket.  And I came downstairs for this?

So I pick her up by the armpits and carry her upstairs and put her in front of her KD.  Now she is screaming harder.  So I ask again, where is this owie.  She says her neck.  I look.  There is a very, very small bump.  The only concerning thing about this bump, in fact, is it is on her collarbone.

So I ask some basic questions.  Can you move your neck/head?  Yes. Can you move your arms?  Yes. 

Good.  Eat your lunch.

But, the crying continues.

Now, in my defense, she has cried so loud for so long over small injuries before, so much for you would have thought she was not going to make it.  Then 2 hours later she can’t even remember where it hurt.  She is a drama queen.

I try and touch the sore spot.  She freaks out.  I give in and call my dh.  Not because he can come help me, but since the army trained him for medical type issues, and he is actually in this province, maybe he might do an on the phone triage and assure me she will be fine.  I mean, the training must be good for something, right?

Not really.  Unless the patient has a sucking chest wound or shrapnel injury, he generally says it looks fine.  But he actually tells me she should go to get looked at. 

So I make some phone calls, drop Monster off at a friends and make sure Freckles can go to another friends after school.  And I make the trip to the local rural Hospital.  For the 2nd time in two weeks.

On arriving, we wait in the waiting area (on the floor since there are no chairs left and all the people on chairs are over 75), for about 45 minutes until we are called in.  The Dr. comes in, glances at her shoulder and tells the nurse she needs an xray and leaves.  We go to xray, we come back. 

She tells me she feels all better.  She even lets me touch the ‘owie’ now and says she’s better.  I am pretty much going over in my head how very much time I have wasted when the doctor calls me into xray.

Well, even I can see that her clavicle is broken. 

They ask me again what happened.  Again, I have to tell them that she rolled off the couch and onto a blanket.  Things are not looking good for me.

The Dr. tells me there is nothing they can do for this injury (which I already knew), that a sling would be useful (which I already knew) and he would prescribe….what’s the word….what’s the word……(I have to remind him the name for ibuprofen).  And I am starting to wonder how hard it would be for me to become a Dr. at this hospital. 

(Sorry, he was actually a really nice guy, and I am sure very competent.  :P)

We then wait almost 45 minutes for a nurse to find a sling (much searching takes place before it is realized that in the wonder of rural hospitals, they have no pediatric sizes and have to use an adult sling).  The nurse ties it around her neck, I realise I could have saved almost an hour by taking her home and grabbing one of the 5 million army slings laying around my house.  And could have found a use for one of those slings.

So here we are.  Our family’s first broken bone:  A clavicle. 

So today I get up, get dressed for the gym and send Freckles off to school, then grab Monster and Drama to dress her for school and him to come with me to spin.  Monster starts hacking up a lung from the cold he’s catching.  Drama screams when I try and change her shirt. 

And I realize that sometimes I don’t get to do what I want or plan, because, well, I’m the mom.  

Huh.