One year ago, on the Friday before Thanksgiving, I was working in the library at school around 1:00 when an announcement came over the school, asking for Mrs. Hildebrand to please come to the office. In the background of the announcement, I could hear (which also means the whole school could hear) crying. I know my kids and I just thought, "Oh Gavin." He's my crier, my sensitive boy, and sometimes, when he gets overwhelmed, he just can't stop crying - even if it's over something small. I figured this was just one of those times.
However, when I opened the door from the library, I could instantly hear that something was very, very wrong. This definitely wasn't a boy who was feeling overwhelmed - this was a boy in a lot of pain. I started running down the hall (so if I'm running you KNOW it's bad! haha) and the secretary stopped me at the end of the hall and said something like, "Amanda. It's bad, but he's okay."
WHAAAAA....?! Well, that's not reassuring!
I turn the corner into the office and Gavin is sitting there, SCREAMING (louder than you can imagine, hence the all capitals) and his forearm is OBVIOUSLY broken. Like, broken like a scene from the movies. Like, broken like no longer in a straight line. I am fairly certain, dear readers, that I may have said a word or two I shouldn't have - especially standing in an elementary school. Everyone was looking to me for what to do. I excused myself for 20 seconds and went into the hallway, faced the wall, and did a quick self-talk, "You can do this. Breathe. You can do this." I was shutting down "the Mom" and opening up "the Crisis Handler." (If I've learned anything the past few years, it's that I really am good in crisis or emergency situations.)
Then I returned, ready to go. First I said to call an ambulance, but our amazing secretary already had Chris on the phone and said he'd be here in a couple minutes. Then someone suggested moving him to the van, but I knew we needed to splint the arm because I feared it would just be hanging otherwise. Some people were throwing suggestions around of towels and cardboard, but then I remembered the cardboard tubes we had in our classroom for making bridges. I ran and grabbed one and knelt down before my wide-eyed screaming boy and closed my eyes as I quickly slid his hand in, knowing it would hurt worse. But, my splint was pretty genius, if I do say so myself. The doctor even commented on it later.
We hauled the whole office chair out to the front of the school where I had the van waiting. We were loading Gavin into the front seat when Chris pulled up and hopped in. Now, just in case you didn't remember, Gavin is still screaming bloody murder. Constant, loud, never ending screams. He was also yelling, "This is an impossible task! I don't think I can survive this task!" His screaming just never ended. I can't even talk to Chris. Chris is not super great in these situations and he just kept saying, "Shhh... buddy. It's okay." and I'm in the back seat of the van, wedged up through to the front so I can have Gavin wrapped in my arms still and I'm saying, "No! This hurts. You yell as loud as you need to!" I was also giving a very not helpful play by play of the van ride, that also doubled as instructions for Chris. "We're only a few minutes away. Here's a big bump. Dad's going to slow down for this one. Dad's going to turn here. Turn here! Ohhh dad is going too fast. Dad is going to SLOW DOWN. Dad's going to drive right to the door and leave the van running and help me take you inside."
When we got to the hospital, I'm pretty sure the entire hospital heard Gavin's screaming. I wasn't really able to function any more. Gavin's screaming was breaking my heart and I couldn't concentrate on anything. Now I know doctors have to remain all calm and cool and that a simple broken arm really isn't a big deal, but to me? My baby was broken and in pain. I just wanted him to have drugs! The lovely, calm, soft spoken doctor was introducing himself to me and I'm pretty sure I just kept repeating to give him drugs. The nurses were ready to go - they just needed the okay. Let's make this happen. I just couldn't focus on anything while he was in so much pain.
The nurse was asking Gavin how his pain was - a sad face, or a happy face. He just screamed in this gut-wretching deep voice, "OBVIOUSLY A SAD FACE. OBVIOUSLY!" Then I asked him to think of a scale of 1-10 with 10 being the most pain he could imagine and he said, "FIFTEEN. FIFTEEEEEN!" Throw in a few, "THIS IS IMPOSSIBLE!" "THIS IS AN IMPOSSIBLE TASK!" and a few, "I'M NOT GOING TO SURVIVE THIS!" and the nurses couldn't help but chuckle. He was finally given a drug in a syringe up his nose (I think. This is where it gets all hazy for me.) This calmed him down enough (Don't you worry. He was STILL screaming with every breath) that the nurses could put an IV in. They had asked if they should explain what they were about to do and I said, "No way. Just do it." So they did. But poor Gavin probably did need some explanation because suddenly he was screaming "Stop!!! That's my good arm! What are you doing to my good arm?! What's wrong with you??! I'll have no arms left!!! THAT'S MY GOOD ARM!" The nurses were trying to distract him while putting in the IV. One nurse was chatting to distract him and said, "I'll bet mom and dad will even buy you a toy after this. What kind of toy do you want?" Gavin stopped screaming long enough to respond that he wanted the Lego Dimensions video game and the nurse said, "Sure! That sounds great!"
Umm... that video game is over $100! Yikes!
When we got to the hospital, I'm pretty sure the entire hospital heard Gavin's screaming. I wasn't really able to function any more. Gavin's screaming was breaking my heart and I couldn't concentrate on anything. Now I know doctors have to remain all calm and cool and that a simple broken arm really isn't a big deal, but to me? My baby was broken and in pain. I just wanted him to have drugs! The lovely, calm, soft spoken doctor was introducing himself to me and I'm pretty sure I just kept repeating to give him drugs. The nurses were ready to go - they just needed the okay. Let's make this happen. I just couldn't focus on anything while he was in so much pain.
The nurse was asking Gavin how his pain was - a sad face, or a happy face. He just screamed in this gut-wretching deep voice, "OBVIOUSLY A SAD FACE. OBVIOUSLY!" Then I asked him to think of a scale of 1-10 with 10 being the most pain he could imagine and he said, "FIFTEEN. FIFTEEEEEN!" Throw in a few, "THIS IS IMPOSSIBLE!" "THIS IS AN IMPOSSIBLE TASK!" and a few, "I'M NOT GOING TO SURVIVE THIS!" and the nurses couldn't help but chuckle. He was finally given a drug in a syringe up his nose (I think. This is where it gets all hazy for me.) This calmed him down enough (Don't you worry. He was STILL screaming with every breath) that the nurses could put an IV in. They had asked if they should explain what they were about to do and I said, "No way. Just do it." So they did. But poor Gavin probably did need some explanation because suddenly he was screaming "Stop!!! That's my good arm! What are you doing to my good arm?! What's wrong with you??! I'll have no arms left!!! THAT'S MY GOOD ARM!" The nurses were trying to distract him while putting in the IV. One nurse was chatting to distract him and said, "I'll bet mom and dad will even buy you a toy after this. What kind of toy do you want?" Gavin stopped screaming long enough to respond that he wanted the Lego Dimensions video game and the nurse said, "Sure! That sounds great!"
Umm... that video game is over $100! Yikes!
I don't remember when he had the X-ray taken because my adrenaline was pumping too, but check this out!
Eventually, the IV was in and the morphine kicked in and after the first dose, Gavin said he was at a 9. Still screaming, always screaming, but at least was able to breathe.
After a second dose of morphine, he calmed down and finally stopped screaming. I think everyone collectively sighed in relief. They had to cut his shirt off and Gavin was so sad. It was picture day, and he knew that it was my favourite shirt on him. Like even in the midst of pain, he was worried about me. What a sweetie. But for real, look at his eyes when he wore that blue shirt.
Now, he was very wide-eyed, possibly high, cold, and worried. The nurse placed one of those toasty, warmed up, straight from heaven itself, blankets on him and Gavin loudly proclaimed, "Woah. I just went straight to a 2 (on the pain scale). This is niiiiiiiicccccccceeee."
Haha. He definitely had the nurses laughing with his vocabulary and ideas. He was insisting that he wanted a red cast, not a pink one, even though pink was a shade of red. He made them promise that if the cast was even "hinting pink" that they would change it.
He wasted his good morphine high by asking me to practice friendly numbers. "Mom. You say a number and I'll say the number that goes with it to make 20. Like seven, 13. Got it?" Geez, kiddo. You have a good morphine high and you want to do math??
He wasted his good morphine high by asking me to practice friendly numbers. "Mom. You say a number and I'll say the number that goes with it to make 20. Like seven, 13. Got it?" Geez, kiddo. You have a good morphine high and you want to do math??
Eventually, he was taken into surgery and his arm was reset. It all went so quickly, that I was left standing in ER alone and looking completely clueless. Thank goodness my friend's husband rescued me and showed me where to go. When we saw Gavin after his surgery, the first thing he said was, "Let's go buy Lego Dimensions!"
We were home by 7:00, with a brand new cast... and video game.
(Reminder - this was a year ago. Gavin is very much healthy, happy and whole now!)
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