You know, sometimes I'm supposed to write a post, based on the loose schedule I try to follow....but I just don't have anything in mind...so I waffle between putting it off for another day, or working to scrounge up an idea. Today was that kind of situation. "There's no story," I lamely concluded, "because nothing's happened lately." WELL! I'm sorry to report that my--evidently extremely powerful--thoughts were picked up by the fickle universe...leading to a most unfortunate result...that's right, I, personally, am responsible for JINXING my family! Here's how it went down:
Derek had his initial soccer match of the "Spring". (Seriously? February 7th? 46 chilly degrees with an accompanying stiff wind do NOT make for comfortable outdoor spectating, I'm here to tell ya...) Riley and I stayed for half, then went our own way to buy supplies for his "construction of a 3D cell model" science project. When Husband and player arrived home, there was something obviously wrong...Derek wore an agonized grimace and held his right arm cradled close to his body. According to his official report: with his arm raised in front of him, he took a ball in the air that hit his outstretched hand, jamming his wrist backwards toward his body. Um....OWWWWW. (Oh, but he stayed on the field, as his team was already a man short for the contest. Oy...)
So...this actually represents the first soccer mishap--besides the occasional, expected bumps and bruises--for Team WestEnders. And as I sat there evaluating his expression, as well as the way he was protecting his entire limb as much as possible from any movement, I began to have doubts about whether it was merely a sprain...or a broken bone somewhere in there. When I asked him to extend it for me to compare to his other arm, he did so only with great difficulty...and then I didn't much like the swollen, discolored appearance. Okey dokey: next up, an exciting trip to the Emergency Room! (Notable: "Injury visit to the ER" is also a Not-So-Fabulous First for us....)
While still pondering the options, I asked Husband, "If it's only a sprain, what's the recommended care? Is it RICE?" And I swear, the man looked at me and--clearly without considering the consequences of his rash smart-aleck tendencies--responded, "Oh, I don't know...I prefer couscous!" (Yes, punishment was enacted swiftly in the form of a sharp poke to the gut. It never cures him...but it's soooo satisfying to deliver...) Meanwhile Derek--bless his pain-addled brain--shook his head in confusion and said, "For a minute, there, I thought you were talking about what you do to your phone if you drop it in water! You know, put it in a bag full of dry rice? And I was wondering how that would help...but I get it, now!" (Forehead...meet palm...)
Okay, moving on: when I informed Derek that I believed it would be wise to have x-rays, a professional opinion, and treatment of some kind, he looked at me as if I were speaking, I don't know...maybe Martian? "What...NOW?" he asked incredulously. "Yeeessss....that's the general idea, dear," I replied with only an admirable minimum of sarcasm (I was feeling quite parentally sympathetic, after all). "But...it's Super Bowl Sunday!" he sputtered indignantly. (Oh. Good. Grief. I would say "You've gotta be kidding me"...but really, I'm not surprised in the least...)
Nevertheless, we assured him that it was an absolutely necessary precaution--then to prove our point, I assisted him in removing his jersey and replacing it with a clean shirt...Riley took care of his socks...Husband put on his shoes...no way was this kid going to escape without having a doctor give him the once-over. As he left with Husband for his inaugural visit to UNC's Healthcare Center, his parting shot was a stubbornly resolute, "This better be quick; I have to get to my friend's house for the game!" (Sure, sweetie. Have fun storming the...hospital!)
Watching them walk out the door, Riley was brimming with concern for his brother, as evidenced by his comment, an utterly forlorn, "If Dad and Derek are gone...who's gonna watch it with ME?" For the love of...I guess that would be your mother, darling--you know, the one who utterly loathes football? (Sheesh, the things we do for our children...) Anyway, as it turned out, it was just a sprain after all. Derek got a removable splint, along with instructions on A) exercises to keep it from stiffening up too much B) the proper, effective use of ibuprofen and C) how to perform our old favorite: RICE, And he must be fine, because Husband dropped him directly off at the aforementioned buddy's house in time for the second half...where I'm sure he's regaling them with the tale of his ordeal...and basking in the attention.
So, with a sigh of relief, I declare that all is well. We narrowly avoided having to chronicle the first Team WestEnders broken bone. (That's right, NONE of us has ever fractured anything...DOH! I take that back! Not jinxing it! Knocking on wood! Throwing salt over shoulder! Dang--I don't have a rabbit's foot handy...quick, what else is lucky?) Perhaps equally as important: since his father is back to keep Riley company, I'm released from my obligation to pay any heed whatsoever to the...gridiron...brouhaha. Now that's what I call a Win-Win!