So last night I hear Cydney’s cry from the bathroom, “Mom, help, I can’t get up.” Complaints that her shoulder and arm are in pain are baffling. I run through the typical checks to be sure the shoulder is not dislocated and that there is a true source of ouch. There is.

Panicked but abiding by the universal rule that insists moms stay calm, her other parent and I shuffle her into her clothes, my jacket, my car…and drive her to emergency.

Now…I’ve been striving to be soft and gooey for years and have always blown it at the critical moment when I really need to be marshmallowy. So as I stress over my daughter’s plight and worry over the expense of it all I vow not to be an emergency room mother and stay as far zen of my unwithering instincts as possible, for that which does not kill my kid should serve to make me stronger. I’m in the emergency room, the land of gunshot wounds and severed limbs. These are trauma professionals. All my medical knowledge fits on the head of a very small pin compared to the integration of their learning and years of residency.

When the radiologist shows Cydney her x-ray and announces that the tiny line between her shoulder joint and her elbow is something she will grow out of, I stare at it for a long time. Convincing myself that I’ve not looked at nearly enough x-rays to rebut that statement, I escort my daughter back to her bed. She’s not howling, she’s in fact having a lot of fun with the new stuffed teddy bear and the spiffy warm blankets. At the end of it all we are given a sling, some liquid Motrin, and a set of instructions on how to make sure her fingers still work. The sprain should feel better by Monday, at which time we will take her in for a follow-up with her pediatrician.

I think I did the marshmallow thing pretty well, all things considered. As I gave Cyd a kiss goodnight I was even proud of myself. I was the epitome of grace under pressure, so unlike my usually flammable self. Ta da! There is hope for La Babs!

Well screw that soft and gooey crap, I guess I’m a tightly wired explosive for a reason. You see, the hospital just called me in a frantic panic — my kid will be in the orthopedic office Monday morning, bright and early, so they can attend to her fractured arm.

So last night I hear Cydney’s cry from the bathroom, “Mom, help, I can’t get up.” Complaints that her shoulder and arm are in pain are baffling. I run through the typical checks to be sure the shoulder is not dislocated and that there is a true source of ouch. There is.

Panicked but abiding by the universal rule that insists moms stay calm, her other parent and I shuffle her into her clothes, my jacket, my car…and drive her to emergency.

Now…I’ve been striving to be soft and gooey for years and have always blown it at the critical moment when I really need to be marshmallowy. So as I stress over my daughter’s plight and worry over the expense of it all I vow not to be an emergency room mother and stay as far zen of my unwithering instincts as possible, for that which does not kill my kid should serve to make me stronger. I’m in the emergency room, the land of gunshot wounds and severed limbs. These are trauma professionals. All my medical knowledge fits on the head of a very small pin compared to the integration of their learning and years of residency.

When the radiologist shows Cydney her x-ray and announces that the tiny line between her shoulder joint and her elbow is something she will grow out of, I stare at it for a long time. Convincing myself that I’ve not looked at nearly enough x-rays to rebuke that statement, I escort my daughter back to her bed. She’s not howling, she’s in fact having a lot of fun with the new stuffed teddy bear and the spiffy warm blankets. At the end of it all we were given a sling, some liquid Motrin, and a set of instructions on how to make sure her fingers still work. The sprain should feel better by Monday, at which time we should take her in for a follow-up with her pediatrician.

I think I did the marshmallow thing pretty well, all things considered. As I gave Cyd a kiss goodnight I was even proud of myself. Ta da!!

Well screw that soft and gooey crap, I don’t think I have a use for it anymore. The hospital just called me in a frantic panic. My kid will be in the orthopedic office Monday morning, bright and early, so they can attend to her fractured arm.