Even though today was a holiday (Martin Luther King Day), I had to work because I was covering a shift for another employee who is on vacation. So, that was a bummer.
After work, I folded some laundry and made my bed and frittered away a small block of time. Then, at 4:15 PM, my daughter and I headed to soccer practice. I brought along the 1,200 page novel I’m reading.
Halfway to the park, my cell phone rang. Unfamiliar phone number. Strange.
“Mom, I just broke my collarbone again.”
I said, “What?”
And he said, “I just broke my collarbone again.”
I said, “REALLY?”
And he said, “Yes.”
My husband had just dropped him off at the field to practice lacrosse, so I called him and told him he’d need to go back and take our boy to Urgent Care. Only he didn’t know where that was and before I knew it, I’d turned my van around and returned home to transfer my daughter to my husband’s car so I could drive twenty minutes the other direction to pick up our son.
And so my son and I spent the next three and a half hours at the Urgent Care. He was quite cheerful and resigned and funny. I was just trying to avoid catching the flu while waiting impatiently, wishing for a footstool and reading my novel.
In the x-ray image, I saw the same collarbone that I’d seen last September, with a break in the exact same area.
So, no more lacrosse for him this year.
Instead of getting a sports physical on Wednesday, he’ll be seeing an orthopedic doctor sometime this week.
He’s pretty disappointed and I would be insensitive to admit how relieved I am that we won’t have to manage five-days a week practices and weekend traveling once the season begins, so I won’t mention that. He doesn’t seem to be in much pain.
I wish I could think of a clever way to end this post but I am much too tired.