The Whack

Today Ally is the proud owner of a removable walking boot and the recipient of her first full bath (sans cast) in several weeks. She's not quite confident enough to walk in the boot, yet, but I doubt it will be very long. Not surprisingly, her doctor gave high marks for bone growth, the caution she has exercised in guarding her leg from further injury and overall cleanliness (they said they'd never seen a cleaner leg removed from a cast). I'll give Lauren the big points for the cleanliness report card, but at the same time, that apple sure didn't fall far from the tree.

It was great to see her in and out of the bathtub tonight without a cast (and even better not to spend an hour by the fireplace blow-drying it). She even went to sleep tonight with the bare leg. If you didn't know anything had happened, you probably wouldn't even look twice. So everything is as good as it can be, but I'm sitting here wondering... why does this feel like the hard part?

I am a veteran of more broken bones, torn ligaments, walking boots, stitches and trips to the ER than I can recall. That is sometimes the price of an active lifestyle, and I understand that. I also know that bones and ligaments and cuts all heal. Logically I know all of this, but it feels different this time. The injury is a little scarier and my logic isn't working because this is Ally and not me. She seems fragile now and I don't want to think of her that way. I'm sure that no one wants to consider their kids' vulnerability, but it is right there in front of me. Yesterday she was protected by a heavy cast and tonight she is sleeping without one. As cool as it is to know she is healing, the cast was comforting. It was safe. I knew she was protected. For years after I broke my wrist in the fifth grade, every whack to my right arm would be met by my mom worriedly asking, "Is that the one you broke?". Now I understand that question.

Oddly enough, the whacks end up being the key to recovery. After you get the all-clear from the doctor, you show a bit more caution in your activities for awhile. It's human nature. But gradually you think about the injury less often, until one day you've kind of forgotten about the fact that you broke something. And then you are playing basketball or catch or not looking where you are walking and WHACK. You grab a rebound that bends the formerly broken finger awkwardly or you bump into a door or a table with the recently healed wrist. And it hurts. But not really. It doesn't hurt like you expect it to. It just hurts like the other fingers or wrist would if the whack happened to them. And that's when you realize that you are not made of glass after all. You are healed and things go back to the way they were. That is the moment I think you are fully recovered.

That all works great when you are the patient. But how do you get ready to watch your child build up that confidence again? I can't feel what Ally feels, so I have to wait for her to decide its okay to start walking. The doctor will tell us when the boot can come off permanently, when she can go back to ballet and when we can ski together again, but Ally will make the real decision on when those activities can resume. And that's fine. We'll ease back into all of that with due caution. But until the she survives the first whack, I'm going to be stuck with this irrational fear of fragility. Someday the whack will come, though. And when it does, we'll both realize she isn't made of glass, and she can really start skiing and swimming and dancing and being a little kid again. That day can't come soon enough.