If you’re trying to make some fun plans for Friday, I can’t tell you what you should do, but I can help you rule out one option.
If you’re considering taking your dog to the vet to get neutered and then cutting your gym session a few minutes short to pick up your sixth grader from school because he called you in tears after running into the wall at PE during first period and he thinks he broke his wrist and then driving your sixth grader to the ER so he can get a splint for his broken wrist (he was right) and then taking your sixth grader to basketball practice that evening with a broken wrist so he can be there for his team’s offensive plays installation and you can be depressed about him not being able to play for maybe 4 to 6 weeks (if we’re being optimistic) and then going to middle school band night and little hawks cheer night at the local high school football game to sit on wet metal bleachers and wreck your lower back while watching your son and daughter play trombone and stand with the cheerleaders (respectively) and coming home to make some fine adjustments to your neutered dog’s head cone before going to bed, I strongly suggest that you reconsider.
As glamorous as it all may sound, it’s actually not the most fun way to kick off the weekend.
When I set a new PR on my deadlift at 9:45 a.m. last Friday, it felt like the day was filled with possibility. Then, the dreaded school phone number appeared on my phone screen, and pretty much immediately, I knew my day was cooked. I was expecting an illness; I got something worse.
My son’s voice was a bit hard to pick up against the backdrop of the gym sound system’s workout music, and because I never know how to switch the call onto the correct audio device. I said “hello… hello” for several seconds into a dead phone before realizing the call was still languishing on my AirPods. After a quick tech troubleshoot, I was able to ascertain that my son was hurt, and he feared his wrist was broken.
My first instinct was to brush off his concerns, surely it couldn’t be that bad, but I remembered a similar situation about a year and a half ago, when I picked him up from basketball camp and he began to tear up because he hurt his finger and he was afraid it was broken. That time, his finger was indeed broken. This time, his wrist had a buckle fracture. He’s now two for two on correctly identifying his injuries. I would prefer that he save the high field goal percentage for the basketball court.
After checking him out from school, I drove him straight to the pediatric ER at my wife’s hospital (she’s a nurse). The visit went off without a hitch except for the bad diagnosis and my son having to head home with a splint that went all the way up above his left elbow. He was in a significant amount of pain, which is always difficult for a parent to have to witness, and perhaps even more painful for me, he was now likely to miss the Fall A rec league playoffs AND at least the first couple of tournaments of his AAU season.
It’s very difficult for me to even think about what I’m supposed to do with my time now until he can get back on the court. Do more laundry? Cook more dinners? Find an actual job and help the family avoid bankruptcy? All the options are terribly unappealing compared to checking tournament brackets and planning out individual practice sessions that balance skill work, conditioning, and agility development.
If only I hadn’t taught the boy to hustle so much, my life wouldn’t be ruined like this. Apparently, he hurt his wrist while trying to save a ball from going out of bounds during a pick-up basketball game at PE. He leaped across the baseline and clattered into the gym wall with his left hand outstretched. You can’t fault the effort. Hopefully, though, he’ll dial it down a bit in the future. I kind of doubt it because it’s hard to throw that switch when hustle is your calling card, but a guy can dream.
Up next is a visit to the orthopaedic doctor, where I’m hopeful we can convince them to eschew a hard cast so we can speed this recovery along as much as possible. My son reported over the weekend that his wrist felt normal, so who are we to question that? He’s a force of nature, after all. This is the kid who once made game-winning free throws with a broken finger because a fourth-grade basketball game isn’t something you just miss because of a little bone fracture.
He’ll be back. In the meantime, I’m going to lock in on my grocery shopping and maybe take a little side quest to the psychotherapist’s office before I become completely untethered from reality.
The dog is still in a cone, by the way. This is never-ending.
Words by me, Andrew Knott. Best known for duck… and Baby-sitters Club?
Books:
Love’s a Disaster - contemporary fiction about a marriage proposal gone wrong, complicated families, mini-golf, second-chance love, Florida, sword fighting, and punk rock music.
Fatherhood: Dispatches From the Early Years - essays and humor about the very early years of my parenting journey
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