Laylee broke her arm in half last week. Well, not all the way in half but it was visibly broken. We had quite the ordeal but luckily all the king’s horses and ER doctors were able to put her back together again. We weren’t even fully buckled into the car yet leaving the hospital when Laylee had decided that snapping bones and having them reset in vicious ways was the best thing ever.
Since my initial post about the break, I’ve gotten tons of questions about how she’s doing because you all care and that’s why I like you.
The truth is she’s doing the same or better than she was before the incident. The only negatives are that now she can’t dress herself or open marker lids. Oh, and her writing skills have also gone to pot as she predicted on the way home from the ER. But her teacher doesn’t much care, as I predicted on the way home from the ER.
Laylee crashes hard but then she bounces back so fast, it’s hard to remember that she was ever down. This morning she was getting dressed for school, when she looked at her bandaged arm in surprise and said, “Woah, I forgot that was even there,” and laughed. It’s amazing really. And a little scary. One swift bump to that thing and we’re back in the ER to re-reset the bone.
The Vicodin made her act so wonky that we only gave it to her for two nights. On the second night, Dan was so creeped out by her stone-ed-ness that he called a nix on the narcotics unless absolutely necessary. And she says she doesn’t need them. She never asks for pain killers and when we ask her if it hurts, she quickly says, “No,” until pressed further when she admits, “Yeah, it hurts a little.”
I wish I were so quick to recover from the little and big things that bring me down. When I’m sick I’m a fat whiner and if I have a fight with a friend, I have a hard time getting over it. Laylee, on the other hand, has this sort of “put me in Coach” attitude, where no matter how badly she’s been hurt physically or emotionally, little time passes before she’s begging me to put her back in the game.
Maybe I’ve just seen too many people get hurt but I find myself being cautious for her since she won’t be for herself. Don’t run so fast. Don’t wear the plastic high heels when you’re walking down the stairs. Don’t trust that girl when she’s been mean and snotty to you in the past. I’ve yet to actually say that last one but I’ve thought it on a few occasions.
It’s simultaneously inspiring and terrifying to see her so trusting, so unafraid, so sure that everything will work out and that she’s made completely out of rubber. I’m old enough to know that she can be broken, sometimes too seriously to fix in a few hours in the ER. I’m just not ready to tell her that.