The Easter Break
Here are little bits of conversation from my six-year-old daughter on Easter Sunday: Ohmygosh, wake up (brother) and look at the end of your bed. Mummy, the Easter Bunny left something at the end of our beds - a huuuuuuge chocolate bunny!
There is a real live frog in the garden, it was guarding one of the eggs so it must be the Easter Bunny's pet. So cute!
I need to collect three more beach shells to give to the Sylvanian families, this one is for the Mummy bunny.
I have drawn arrows in the sand. Mum and Dad, start here and follow the arrows to find the buried treasure!
Two more sausages and beans please, p-l-e-a-s-e, and then another four more after that t-h-a-t. (yes we are doing a lot of spelling at the moment, it is quite i-n-s-a-n-e).
Did you know (our friends) made biscuits with noodles and peanut butter and chocolate eggs? They were sooooo dis-gus-ting! But they kept eating them and eating them *giggle giggle* ewwwww!
Can (our cousin) stay to watch a movie? Can we watch Horton Hears a Hoo? Is Hoo h-o-o or w-h-o??
Race you to the playground, last one is a rotten fish egg!
Mum, those boys are climbing up the soccer goals. Can I? Awwwww why not?
Can I have a bowl of spaghetti with no sauce on like (my cousin)? Awwwww why not?
Muuum, I have the magic dice in the bath. Pick number between 1 and 8. You got it! It was 7! That is the best number.
I’ll go get us a book to read mum. You stay here.
Aaaaaaar aaaaar aaaaaaaaar Mummy, I fell off the bed! My arm, my arm! Aaaaaaaaaaa, I broke my arm! Mummy it hurts it hurts. Put me down, AAAAAAAAAAAAAH.
I think I will just rest. I need to sleep now.
I will just rest.
Where are we going? I just want to sleep.
It hurts, it hurts, don’t touch it!
I don’t want the medicine. Is it panadol? Ok ok.
Don’t pick me up, it hurts!!!
AAAAaaaaaaar it hurts mummy. I don’t want to go to hospital.
Please can I go home. Please can I go home. Mummy please. I want to go home. Take me home. I don’t want to go to hospital. I want to go home. Please mummy I want to go home. Please mummy please.
I can’t put my arm up there, I can’t. AAAAAAAAAAAAAR.
I told you my arm was broken Mum.
Do I really get to ride in an ambulance? w-o-w WOW!
Is it the middle of the night? Right now? Like the middle middle, real middle? I have never been up this late before.
There are lots of babies crying in here. I think lots of little babies have been really hurt. Why has that baby got both his feet bandaged up? Will he be ok?
I’m scared Mum. What if I wake up when the doctor is fixing my arm?
If I can’t wake up when they are fixing it, how will they wake me up when they are finished?
What if they never wake me up?
How the conversations of the day changed. Our Easter had come to an end with my beautiful daughter having surgery to put wires in her arm. It was a big injury from a minor fall doing a low risk activity: she was sitting on the bed, misjudged the edge and fell off it. She was an incredible trooper through it all, and it was no bullshit greenstick fracture either, it was a good old snappity snap, above the elbow, right the way through. You should have seen the parent empathy gush forth in spades once those X-rays came through! So now she has wires sticking out of the skin under the plaster (thanks be to the God of Grossness for that) and they have to come out in four weeks - apparently while she is awake.
The doctor said it doesn’t hurt but there has never been a child that hasn’t screamed anyway.
My girl wasn’t operated on until 19 hours after her arm was broken so the swelling and shock and toxins were pretty much out of control. She was fasting for the surgery but because the surgery kept getting put off she didn’t eat or drink anything for 20 hours. And I didn’t sleep for over 40. Yes, it got weird, and I told that to the green eskimo who was racing baby turkey fish on the ceiling.
But the whole time I was reminding myself how lucky we were. Lucky it wasn't her preferred arm, lucky it wasn't summer (all broken bone comrades know what a bitch a plaster cast is in the heat) and lucky it was school holidays. Then the two big ones: lucky we were only dealing with a broken arm, not some unthinkable injury or illness that she may not recover from, and lucky that we live in this country.
I imagined how this would all play out if we were in a developing country with compromised, or no, healthcare. Despite all the waiting, we went from a clean hospital to a clean hospital, by ambulance, in the middle of the night. Despite it taking many hours, my daughter got pain relief and a bed to lie in (after the very sweet family of a teenage boy gave up their bed for us and then had to sit in a chair for the next 4 hours). Despite being bumped down the list due to more needy patients coming in, my daughter got surgery by an experienced doctor (he said he did four surgeries just like my daughters PER DAY - jeezus Aussie kids, STOP MOVING!). Despite all the crying and the pain and frustration, we got to go home…
And so far I haven't got an invoice for any of it.
So now we go through the next chapter of the holidays, do lots of non-arm-related activities and get ready for school next week. One day I will be sure to post more details about our little adventure and add in some of our full conversations; like my response when she said 'I told you my arm was broken Mum', or the good mother comment the nurse made that made me weep for days afterward, or perhaps the fascinating discussion I had with the green eskimo about the cause of the GFC. I will also let you in on some of the interesting sights we saw; like the girl who licked every single thing in the hospital waiting room w-o-w WOW. But for now we just recover...