This is my son. He’s just about to get an x-ray of his arm.

There is that moment that stops your heart. You hear a loud crash. You wait the space of a breath that takes hours in your mind and then comes the cry out of your own child. I knew something was going to happen. He had been upstairs all by himself and he has a tendency to get into mischief. Normally, it’s endearing and harmless. Yet, somehow when I heard the loud crash, I didn’t make an assumptions. I just ran. Well, until my sweet husband pushed me out of the way saying, “Let me go first.”  He made it up the stairs in two bounds.He knew something was wrong too. I walked into a room expecting the worst.

Somehow when you know your child is hurt, your mind flashes back to every incident, injury and bandaid they’ve every had. When he was barely three, he was in his room playing with his older brother while I was working in the backyard (Scott mowing the lawn). We told them not to come out under any circumstances because it’s hard to hear them over the lawn mower. He had stood on a toy drum and fell through nearly taking his eye out on the corner of a chair. We found the both of them standing at the backdoor crying & covered in blood. They’re really good at following rules.

He was laying on top of his arm and his legs were turned oddly. My first thought was … He broke something .He’s just not the type to fall down and stay down. He was worried about his leg. He was afraid he was bleeding. Scott didn’t let him move, afraid he’d broken his collarbone. He felt along his neck, shoulders, arms, legs and all that but couldn’t find anything out of place. We rolled him over. His arm hurt. It was red but otherwise looked fine.He told us he had been trying to see what his brother was doing in the backyard, stood on a table and slipped off. We had him sit on the couch in the game room and put some cartoons on. Sent up some lunch. Lectured him on the dangers of spying on your brother and/or standing on top of random things (he has a bad track record after all) and continued on with our day. An hour later I was beckoned back upstairs because his arm was really hurting. It was swollen and bruised. Just like that, we were on our way to the hospital. This is the second time in my life I had to leave my oldest son with my in-laws to take him to the hospital. The last time he nearly died from a collapsed lung and severe pneumonia. I kept reminding myself it was probably just a broken arm.

It was. Broken. Supracondylar fracture. Broken just above the elbow on his left arm. Aside from being the odd lady who carries a large camera in her purse (despite having a camera phone like everyone else in the world) we also had to suffer the indignity of being questioned about just how this happened. Sure, we jokingly threaten to beat our kids up all the time, but we would never actually do it. It was odd. I understand why but somehow when your child is hurt, you just want them to fix it and not deal with the rest. My munchkin  as usual was a stoic. As far as the pain goes, he never cried. He never does. Surgeries, stitches, needles and the like he has been through but never a tear. His eyes began to water from fear. Fear of the x-ray machine or the need for a surgery. When the doctor mentioned he could lose the use of his hand if he lost circulation to the lower part of his arm, I thought he was going to lose it. He’s been just as diligent about keeping and eye on the swelling as we have.

We walked away with a splint, a sling  and an appointment to get a cast at the end of the week. He fell asleep on the car ride home.

That was when the emotion flooded out of both of us.

Scott was angry. What a stupid way to break a bone!  This kid is so careless!

I was just exhausted. Why can’t we just have time where everything is okay? Why can’t my children be healthy and whole? Their perfect little bodies were flawless when I gave them to them. Somehow they keep on scarring, breaking and abusing them. I lied. Maybe I was a little angry too.

Mostly I am just heartbroken. Every time one of my children get hurt it feels like a smack in the face. Why can’t I keep them safe? Then there is the fear lurking that somehow it can get worse. I try so hard and yet they keep breaking my heart with every scrape, scratch and wound.

I’ve had to cancel all my appointments this week. He doesn’t get a cast until Friday, so he needs to be extremely careful until then. I’ve been sleeping (really poorly) next to him. I can’t imagine he really needs it but I do. I need him not to hurt. I need him to be getting better. I’ve got to get my heart back in order before one of them breaks it again.