Mending Bones
Since he first stubbornly insisted upon attempting to walk on his own despite no developed muscles, we knew Bean was going to be the first of our two children to break a bone. Even though Ender had a 7 year head start, he is a very cautious kid and rarely risks injury. My theory is that he is overly aware of his potentially dangerous actions because as first time parents, we would make him constantly aware.
"Be careful with that!"
"Watch out!"
"Don't climb on that! You might get hurt!"
"Use caution with that pillow, you don't want to get dust in your eyes!"
These kind of phrases streamed out of our mouths throughout Ender's early years. Later we learned to settle down, relax, and accept that children are resilient. Even after nasty falls that would have resulted in whining and time off work if I had done the same, the kids bounce back up and get right back to playing. We discovered that so much caution can affect their confidence, and confidence is what makes us succeed while leaping from arm chair to couch. At least, lack of it can turn into failure.
This is why when Bean first started acting like a crazed wild ape, we bit our tongues and let him learn a few things on his own. The results weren't quite what we expected so far. Instead of learning that trying to do a flip off the coffee table and onto the cat will result in injury, he learned that if he spends his time crying, the cat will run away. This is why I knew he'd be the first to break a bone.
At least, I thought I knew. I was so sure that he would break a bone that when he had a tumble with a neighbor kid on the trampoline, I barely though twice about it. He freaked and panicked and looking at his arm improperly would result in irreversible injury. He constantly held his injured arm like it was dead weight. I had to hold him on my lap for dinner, and feed him like he was 6 months old again.
This is when I think I made my first mistake. I created a makeshift sling out of a scarf so that he could use his uninjured arm for something other than holding the injured one. This became the center point of all his conversations for the night. When he could steal the phone, it was all about his injury and his sling. When getting on the couch, I would carefully assist him so that he wouldn't have to move that slung arm. For Bean, the sling became a sign of arm safety.
At this point, you might ask, why didn't I take him to the hospital? Well, we had let our health insurance lapse while waiting for a new one to become active. Due to a paperwork mess, the new one was delayed. So to take him to the hospital, I had to be convinced that the arm was broken. I decided to wait until the next day to see how he slept, and to check for swelling.
The night was long. By morning I was convinced we had to take him in. Before going, I thought I'd check on his status though. I asked him to move a few fingers. He lifted up his good arm and moved them all around. After clarifying, he attempted to move his injured arm's fingers. It resulted in "owch!". We made him change shirts, it resulted in a lot of screaming and crying. We looked at his arm, swollen, maybe a bump in the forearm. Screaming and crying.
Our decision was easy at that point. I'd rather worry about money than Bean's health. I'm surprised no one called the police as we tried to get Bean into his car seat. To properly strap him in, it would require temporary removal of the safety sling that held up Bean's hopes for a painless day. Then he said something that should have clued me in. "It might hurt", he said. Not that it did hurt, just that it might. If I could think clearly during the screams that followed, our actions may have been different.
At the hospital, we're checked in. Bean, as usual, must walk unassisted, no parents to usher him into the new halls and rooms and behind big doors. Besides, he's still got his sling of power. The new few moments should have resulted in me grabbing Bean, thanking the staff, and walking out. The nurse, after taking some vitals (not a tear), attempts to find the pain.
"Does this hurt?"
Shakes his head no.
"This?"
Shakes no again.
"This?"
Shakes no at first, then a slight yes.
Not once though does he react, pull his arm away, or show any other sign of pain. Bean's a tough kid I figure. Then the nurse asked him to squeeze her hand. Keep in mind, this is maybe 2 hours after I asked him to just move a finger, which he couldn't. He squeezes her hand as if it was nothing. For the next hour the staff bathes him in cute compliments. During this time, a doctor, assistant, and x-ray technicians move his arm every which way, none result in any significant sign of pain. The sling even loses its power, and falls to the side.
Oh well, glad he's okay. Since then he's thrown baseballs, tumbled with a dog, cartwheeled on the trampoline, fell off stools while trying to raid the refrigerator. Nothing. Such is the way with Bean. The kid with no fear (except he thinks a lot of movies are scary, even the Lion King) just doesn't know how to react when he finally has fear. His fear of pain was so real and intense that it convinced us it was pain.
I think had I not turned the ordinary scarf into his magical crutch, then maybe he would have realized a lot sooner that the pain was gone. Still though, you should have seen how cute he looked in it.
"Be careful with that!"
"Watch out!"
"Don't climb on that! You might get hurt!"
"Use caution with that pillow, you don't want to get dust in your eyes!"
These kind of phrases streamed out of our mouths throughout Ender's early years. Later we learned to settle down, relax, and accept that children are resilient. Even after nasty falls that would have resulted in whining and time off work if I had done the same, the kids bounce back up and get right back to playing. We discovered that so much caution can affect their confidence, and confidence is what makes us succeed while leaping from arm chair to couch. At least, lack of it can turn into failure.
This is why when Bean first started acting like a crazed wild ape, we bit our tongues and let him learn a few things on his own. The results weren't quite what we expected so far. Instead of learning that trying to do a flip off the coffee table and onto the cat will result in injury, he learned that if he spends his time crying, the cat will run away. This is why I knew he'd be the first to break a bone.
At least, I thought I knew. I was so sure that he would break a bone that when he had a tumble with a neighbor kid on the trampoline, I barely though twice about it. He freaked and panicked and looking at his arm improperly would result in irreversible injury. He constantly held his injured arm like it was dead weight. I had to hold him on my lap for dinner, and feed him like he was 6 months old again.
This is when I think I made my first mistake. I created a makeshift sling out of a scarf so that he could use his uninjured arm for something other than holding the injured one. This became the center point of all his conversations for the night. When he could steal the phone, it was all about his injury and his sling. When getting on the couch, I would carefully assist him so that he wouldn't have to move that slung arm. For Bean, the sling became a sign of arm safety.
At this point, you might ask, why didn't I take him to the hospital? Well, we had let our health insurance lapse while waiting for a new one to become active. Due to a paperwork mess, the new one was delayed. So to take him to the hospital, I had to be convinced that the arm was broken. I decided to wait until the next day to see how he slept, and to check for swelling.
The night was long. By morning I was convinced we had to take him in. Before going, I thought I'd check on his status though. I asked him to move a few fingers. He lifted up his good arm and moved them all around. After clarifying, he attempted to move his injured arm's fingers. It resulted in "owch!". We made him change shirts, it resulted in a lot of screaming and crying. We looked at his arm, swollen, maybe a bump in the forearm. Screaming and crying.
Our decision was easy at that point. I'd rather worry about money than Bean's health. I'm surprised no one called the police as we tried to get Bean into his car seat. To properly strap him in, it would require temporary removal of the safety sling that held up Bean's hopes for a painless day. Then he said something that should have clued me in. "It might hurt", he said. Not that it did hurt, just that it might. If I could think clearly during the screams that followed, our actions may have been different.
At the hospital, we're checked in. Bean, as usual, must walk unassisted, no parents to usher him into the new halls and rooms and behind big doors. Besides, he's still got his sling of power. The new few moments should have resulted in me grabbing Bean, thanking the staff, and walking out. The nurse, after taking some vitals (not a tear), attempts to find the pain.
"Does this hurt?"
Shakes his head no.
"This?"
Shakes no again.
"This?"
Shakes no at first, then a slight yes.
Not once though does he react, pull his arm away, or show any other sign of pain. Bean's a tough kid I figure. Then the nurse asked him to squeeze her hand. Keep in mind, this is maybe 2 hours after I asked him to just move a finger, which he couldn't. He squeezes her hand as if it was nothing. For the next hour the staff bathes him in cute compliments. During this time, a doctor, assistant, and x-ray technicians move his arm every which way, none result in any significant sign of pain. The sling even loses its power, and falls to the side.
Oh well, glad he's okay. Since then he's thrown baseballs, tumbled with a dog, cartwheeled on the trampoline, fell off stools while trying to raid the refrigerator. Nothing. Such is the way with Bean. The kid with no fear (except he thinks a lot of movies are scary, even the Lion King) just doesn't know how to react when he finally has fear. His fear of pain was so real and intense that it convinced us it was pain.
I think had I not turned the ordinary scarf into his magical crutch, then maybe he would have realized a lot sooner that the pain was gone. Still though, you should have seen how cute he looked in it.
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