Sam's Foot

Something happened to Sam's foot a couple of weekends ago during a soccer game.  Unless they go down and are immobile, I have a hard time knowing how serious an injury is.  He was complaining of pain but walking and playing on it, and we iced, wrapped, elevated, etc.  When he had soccer again and was limping during the game and asked to play goal, then cried afterwards because of the pain, I took him to the doctor.
Which took a really, really long time.  Lanie came with us and was unbelievably good and patient, and fascinated. She only lost it once, when she decided she had to use the bathroom, while we waited 35 minutes for them to retrieve the right size crutches from orthopedics downstairs (where I still had to make an appointment, but was closed by the time we left!).  She lay outside the bathroom and refused to move, which was a little inconvenient for other people trying to walk by.  But if I had picked her up she would have had a tantrum.  So I watched her squirm on the dirty, germy floor and tried not to care.  After an appointment, x-rays, meeting with the pediatrician again, and waiting for an air brace, we had been there for a long time.
The doctor put him on crutches for a few days pending the appointment with orthopedics, hoping that would resolve the issue, as nothing was visible in the x-rays.

His foot that appears perfectly normal to me.

Passing time at the doctor, being a helpful brother.

Crutches at school, where there is now a "crutches club." The poor teachers.

Yesterday, Lanie had her annual physical, which I told her about.
"Oh," she said, "I go to the doctor?"
"Yes," I told her, "just like Sam. And remember how the doctor was gentle, and Sam didn't cry?"
"Yes," she replied.
"So Lanie won't cry!" I told her.
"Oh. Yes." she told me, "I'll go to the doctor."
"That's right," I said, "the doctor will look at your eyes and your nose, and your mouth!"
"And my belly!" she said.
"Yes!" I told her, "and you won't cry.  You will cooperate. Like Sam."
"And my art!" she said.  "The doctor will listen to my art!"
"Yes, the doctor will listen to your heart."
"But first," she told me, "I will go to soccer!"
"Nope," I said, "you won't go to soccer. First you will go to Samantha's, second you will go to the doctor."
"Hmmm..." she said, "no, I will go to soccer and then to the doctor's."
"No," I said, "you are not getting hurt at soccer.  You are going to the doctor's because you are healthy."
"Okay," she said. And limped away.

Update: Off crutches and gradual release back to no walking without the air brace.  Everyone is relieved, particularly the school nurse and teacher.  I got a lecture about his level of activity on crutches when I picked up yesterday.
And an email the first day.

Tickets and Machine

 

After a very long appointment the other day for Sam's ears, I finally get the kids loaded in the car.  Somewhere between exiting the doctor's office and getting on the elevator in the parking garage, I had to get Sam off the floor in a fabulous meltdown that told me how he really felt about the day.  Meanwhile, Vivi was in the Baby Bjorn sling happily munching on the parking ticket I had just validated.  By the time I realized, she had gummed one corner pretty well. 

Unfortunately it was the kind you had to slide into the machine to exit the garage.  Even more unfortunately, the machine didn't like the chewed up parking ticket and jammed.  Just to be clear, the screen flashed "Jam" at me several times, while the arm guarding the exit stayed firmly in place.

The attendant who was supposed to be monitoring the machines didn't notice me yelling, "excuse me," out the window for a few minutes, until the line of cars backed up the ramp and he came over.  He opened the machine and gave me a look of disdain when he found the chewed up ticket.  I tried to apologize and explain it was the baby-

Doctor Who?

I had to take Sam and Vivian to my own doctor's appointment today at the last minute.  In the car, Sam asked me, "What is the doctor called?"
"Huh?"
"What's the doctor called?"
"His name?"
"Yes."
"Dr. Rohrer."
Pause.
Sam asks, "what does he talk like?"
"What does he talk like?  You mean how does he speak?"
"Yes."
"Like a regular person."
Pause.
"In a very loud voice?"
"No.  A regular voice."
"Is he a nice guy?"
"Yes, he's a nice doctor who is helpful."
"And he talks in a not loud voice."
"Right."
I wasn't following the conversation entirely so I just let it go.
When we were in the waiting room, Sam asked, "what's taking Dr. Lion so long?"
"Dr. Lion?  His name's Doctor Rohrer." (Pronounced "roar.").  I tried so hard not to laugh that I started tearing up.  He must have thought we were visiting a lion the whole way there, who roared instead of talked.