Leg: Not Broken

One would think if one of our kids was going to break a leg, it would have been at the ice skating event. Nope - Easter Sunday dinner with the family. 

We'd just been at the Deru's home for fifteen or twenty minutes when a hurt cry came from the trampoline. Mimi, jumping with the big kids, had been injured. 

Assuming this was your typical two-year-old boo-boo, Mary kept Mimi on her lap for several minutes. The place Mimi was indicating hurt was troubling, and it didn't seem to be improving. So off we went to the Ogden Clinic. 

We got through the initial triage and information exchange relatively quickly (way faster than the Army) and were put into an exam room. 

In the exam room, we waited, and waited, and waited. The nice thing was the exam room next to us housed a little girl who had cut her hand all the way across the palm with a piece of glass. The wait coupled with the adjacent wailing (which sounded like one of those old haunted house sound effects records) were a great environment to keep Mimi calm. It was also interesting to me that there were no fewer than eight signs telling people to stay off their phones. It wasn't "your cell signal scrambles our medical equipment" type signage. It was more a "people don't pay attention to our diagnosis because they are live-tweeting the experience" reaction. 

"So make sure you drink plenty of liquids and take two of these pills twice a day with a meal." 

"Hang on, Doc. Can you get a little closer? I want to post this selfie on Instagram."

We obeyed those signs for the first thirty minutes but then succumbed to the siren's call of "My Little Ponies" on Mary's phone. 

At last the examination began with an ushering to the super scary x-ray room. There's nothing better when you're two-years-old than having your dad put on a lead smock and then hold you down on this big table while a scary laser makes noises.

When at last the x-rays came back, it didn't look like there were any breaks. They put a rigid splint on her leg wrapped with a couple of ace bandages, and off we went for home.

For about ten days, Mimi was miserable. The first day Mary tried to give her a cow bell she could ring when she needed something. That bell rang all day long. All. Day. Long. (I've got a fever, and the only cure is more cowbell.)

Eventually Mimi learned to just scoot around the house. It wasn't ideal, but at least she was semi-mobile.

So here's the upside to this story. Because she couldn't get around, Mimi became hyper aware of her bladder. Inside a week, we had a potty-pro in our house. 

So if anyone asks for some techniques to help with the potty train, feel free to recommend the "severely sprained, hyper-extended knee" method.