|
BROKEN CUB The doorbell rang multiple times on another late summer afternoon. “Those kids just never get tired of ringing that,” I thought and took my time getting up from the computer barefoot and all. One of the neighborhood mothers opened the door, “Amy wants you.
Something happened to Sun Su." “His arm is just hanging,” she said. Shoulder dislocation? I thought optimistically. Tears of pain ran down my little Sun Su’s cherubic face. His little forearm was bent in an eerily unnatural way. It was broke. I winced, not as a physician but as a parent who’s little boy was truly hurt and there wasn’t anything I could do about it. I bolted inside, slipped my shoes on, and started the car. My mom had come to visit that day and took care of the baby. “I’m taking him to St. Azrael (the hospital I work at). People complain about the ER wait at the “I want bay-dee (baby)! I want gramma!”
He usually just asks for his umma (mom), but now he just wanted anyone who was at the farthest possible point from here - home. “What happened?” I asked Amy. “He climbed up the slide with that new (Styrofoam) airplane and then he fell,” she answered while trying to comfort Sun Su, “I’m sorry Sun Su. It’s umma’s fault. I’m sorry.” “It’s not your fault. This is what little boys do,” I told her. By the time I had parked the car, Amy and Sun Su were already in the triage room. Only three of the ER’s heart monitors were active, I saw on
the monitor bank above. So either it was
a slow night or 80% of their patients were dead. But that's ridiculous, this wasn't the Medical ICU or anything. In X-ray, I wanted to stay but only one parent they said. It’s not like I was worried about getting my balls irradiated anyways. Definitely no more kids for us. Sun Su calmed down after awhile in the ER room thanks to some Bob the Builder and Toy Story tapes. Amy quietly cried a little behind him with acid tears of a mother’s guilt. “Woody fall down,” Sun Su noted. The pediatrician was a stout older woman with very short white hair. We live in a very open-minded liberal university town now. It’s great. It’s just that now when I see very short-haired stout women, my first impression is either a mother or a lesbian. That pretty much covers most bets in this town. Either way, short-haired stout women aren’t taking shit from any pricks anymore. The pediatrician showed me the X-rays. A complete fracture. The radius bone (the forearm bone that rotates with the thumb in a “radius”) was bent and snapped but it would heal and straighten by itself due to children’s’ natural Wolverine-like regenerative powers. The growth plates at the ends of his bones were still forming. He would need a sling and a cast for a few weeks. Sun Su quickly patched himself up with the blue and green stickers he got upon discharge. He magnanimously decided to save the leftover sticker for baby. Earlier, Sun Su had been given 2 mg of liquid Lortab
(similar to Vicodin) for pain. This was for pain, and often causes drowsiness.
In Sun Su’s case, it made him talk incessantly. All the way home.
“What’s that?
Why? What is he doing? Look orange truck! Green truck!
Go now (said at a red streetlight)!
Where’s bay-dee (baby)? Why? What’s that?
Why?” Et cetera.
Baby Ooseung was in her usual delighted mood upon seeing Sun
Su again and she immediately wanted to play with his new arm sling with his
broken arm still in it.
While lying next to Sun Su in bed that night, he concisely briefed me on his current condition, “I got big boo-boo and Band-Aid, but it will get better now. I got green stickah (sticker).” It
could have been a lot worse. We’re lucky, I know. Still,
when it's your kid, everything is a big deal to the parents. To
kids, it's just another (mis)adventure. Again, no more kids for us. I see enough of the hospital on the day job.
|
