I have made many trips to urgent care for the girls.  It seems that most of their ailments and injuries happen after hours.  The kind doctors at the urgent care clinic have treated them for croup, strep and the flu.  When the culprit was injury instead of illness, they stitched up an eyebrow and reset a nursemaid’s elbow.  To date, none of their bumps and bruises, coughs and chills, required the voyage to the emergency room.

That changed last Friday night.  At 6:10 p.m., just as every doctor’s office closed for the weekend, Sarah fell from the monkey bars.  Just that afternoon she learned to cross the monkey bars unassisted.  When Scott came home from work, Sarah wanted to show off her new trick.  We went outside to watch.  Seeing a little rain on the deck we told Sarah to wait because the monkey bars might be slippery.  Our words were a moment too late.  She slipped to the ground, landing wrist first.  

Her face told that this was more than a simple fall.  I knew we were off to the emergency room.  I didn’t know if her wrist was broken, but I did know that my heart was.  It wrenches my heart to see my children in pain.  I want to make it all better.  Knowing that I can’t just makes my heart ache more.  

Although we are not ER regulars, I am wise to a few ways of the world.  ER plus Friday night equals a very long wait.  The last time I was in an ER, I waited seven hours to see a doctor.  This time, I prepared us for the long haul – snacks, DVD player and movies, books, magazines, warm clothes (why are ER’s always freezing?), and more.

We headed to the nearby WakeMed Apex Emergency Department.  This ER just recently opened and apparently word hasn’t spread.  We checked in at the front desk and were taken back immediately.  Yes, immediately.  We had X-rays and a diagnosis within the hour.  

Actually it wasn’t really a diagnosis, but it was all we were getting that evening.  The X-rays were inconclusive.  We were instructed to see an orthopaedic doctor this week to determine if it was a bad sprain or a hairline fracture.  In the interim, they “splinted” her arm.  In my world, a splint means an ace bandage or a little Velcro brace.  In the ER, a “splint” means a temporary plaster cast up to the shoulder.

By 9 p.m. Friday, Sarah, her new cast, and I were home.  By Saturday morning, Sarah was pretty much pain free.  By Saturday afternoon, she was very much annoyed to not have use of her right arm.  By Monday afternoon, we were sitting in the waiting room of the orthopaedic surgeon.  His diagnosis was better than a winning lottery ticket – no fracture – just a bad sprain.  He took off her temporary cast and sent us home with a “splint” – this time a real splint – no plaster, no sling – just a little Velcro brace for her wrist.

Sarah’s wrist is on the mend.  My heart is going to take a bit longer to recover.  As for the monkey bars, I am hoping that Sarah keeps her distance for a bit longer.  While I know I can’t keep my kids in a bubble, after incidents like this, I sometime wish I could.  

Gigi appears Fridays on TriangleMom2Mom. To read more about Gigi, go to her blog Stroller Lane.