Almost two weeks after the incident I’m still trying to make sense of my son’s broken arm. Before this I thought broken arms were no big deal. Even though I had never had one, nor did either of my brothers, I thought they were a normal part of life.
I don’t know if it’s just me or just this experience, but it has been anything but normal. Our 4-year-old needed surgery, and for days after we struggled with the appropriate pain management. He would alternately writhe in pain or glaze over in a sort-of catatonic state. Thankfully after a few more days than the doctors considered “normal” he dropped the pain meds and our little boy is back to his usual self. But it’s been a scary ride.
I’m sure he won’t remember the night we spent in the hospital or how terrifying the operating room looked as we walked in to the sterile space. I know he won’t remember that I carried him and his sister the two avenues to the hospital as we all cried for different reasons. In fact, he probably won’t have any recollection of the recent events around this broken elbow, but it may have changed my ways as a mother forever.
Of course I know that kids break their arms no matter if they have free-range or helicopter moms, but maybe I’ll feel better — at least for now — hovering over them at every turn.