Yesterday at 4:50 pm, I received a frantic phone call from Stephen--we are on our way to the ER...Wyatt's rib is poking out of his body! This resulted in me screaming what the fuck, someone has to drive me to the hospital (cause I take the bus to work)!

He was such a trooper. We were in the ER for nearly 3 hours and he barely cried. Our nurse said he was the best patient she has ever had in her 16 years of pediatrics. That's right, my baby is a mother trucking bad ass!

It was a bad break but lucky for us, it was a clean break. It took the doctor all but 10 minutes to Pop! it back into place. It is pretty much straight again. In technical terms it was a "successful interval reduction of distal left radial and ulnar metaphyseal fractures with near-anatomic alignment."


This peaceful slumber lasted from 9:30 to 11pm and then we were up for the rest of the night. Stephen made a 1am trip to the 24-hour pharmacy to fill the prescription the doctor said we wouldn't need until the morning.

And it still hurts pretty bad. Wy Guy is unhappy and uncomfortable. He hasn't had much sleep--he is in bad shape. Here are some direct Wyatt quotes about the situation:

My wrist hurts really bad and I don't know why.


I am really worried about this thing.


Damn.


I hate this thing.

He is in a soft cast until Monday when he sees the orthopedic doctor and gets a hard cast. And I should probably explain what happened.

The boys were supposed to be cleaning their room but were instead playing on the bunk bed (I knew that thing would come back to haunt me). Wyatt was hanging from the top bunk, swinging his feet. Henry gave those feet a tug and down came Wyatt, smacking his wrist on an open cabinet door underneath the bottom bunk. It was tragic and I am glad I was not there to witness any of it. It was bad enough looking at his wrist while we were in the ER.

Once was enough, although I doubt my exposure to broken bones is far from over. But a girl can hope, can't she.