Thursday night, Ian was in aikido as normal, when Sheila threw him (as she was supposed to do), but he came down wrong. He is usually so dramatic when something even minor happens that I didn't believe he was really hurt.
Friday, after spending the day between the pediatrician, radiologist, and orthopedic specialist, we discover he has a Salter-Harris Type II fracture of his fifth toe. This basically means he broke the growth plate. (Wow, did I feel guilty for not believing him.) The doctor said if he doesn't injure it anymore, wears a firm shoe, no gym or aikido, no running, no jumping, no kick ball, etc., he'll be fine. If he dislocates it further, he will require surgery - the kind that involves instrumentation. {heavy sigh} The doctor told me to try to keep him off of it for a couple weeks. I laughed and said, "Doc! He's 8!" He laughed too. Wonder if he has kids. 8-year-old boys don't sit still for long.
And because I think it's fun to torture myself, Saturday I used the opportunity presented by Ian laying on the couch all day to clean his room. I took four trash bags of stuff out of there - the kid is a packrat! I think he kept every single paper he did last year in school. He told me he is keeping a few of his broken toys "for the memories". And he certainly hasn't been doing all his laundry. I found most of my towels, and he now has only six socks with no matches. Ah, well. He's 8.
Work has been tough, too. The lady I work with is out sick, and as usual, these things happen at the worst possible time. The boss is gearing up for trial, and I am so slogged under I don't even want to get up in the morning. Motivational issues, I guess. I'm just trying to keep all the balls in the air until she comes back and things return to relatively normal. I can't wait until they get the mold cleaned up in the basement (where my office is). That mildewy smell in my clothes is sickening, and I'm going through Kleenex like crazy. Hopefully the clean-up will happen this week.
It's been a bad week for some of our clients, too. Most of them just don't realize how difficult it is for me to listen to the injuries - me, who doesn't do blood. I am totally in the wrong business. I feel so bad for people who get hurt, and some days it is really hard for me not to get down. I always remember to smile as I pick up the phone and say hello, because I know that the person on the other end has much bigger problems than I have ever experienced, and they certainly don't need to hear grumpy. If things get bad, I view a slide show in my brother's pbase site, and I feel better. This link goes to my favorite section: http://www.pbase.com/michaeltabor/places. It's like taking a mental stroll through an art museum.
Ian will have to go to work with me tomorrow. It is his class' field trip day, and because of his foot, he can't go. They are going to Mumford, and it is a walking tour. He is NOT happy, and giving me a wee bit of a hard time because of it. I keep telling him, this isn't for forever, but for now, he's got to stay off that foot. But he's 8.
Top it all off with the fact that I smelled winter in the air this morning, and baseball playoffs have started - which means the end of summer.
Hmm. I seem to be feeling a bit bluesy now. Time to check out that pbase site again.
Thank goodness for big brothers. :)
And things will get better again. I'm just in a slump. Tomorrow will be a better day.
