Thursday, my younger son went back to the doctor about his arm. They sawed off the cast, which totally freaked my boy out. They had taken the first cast off when he was asleep, so neither of us had ever seen the cast taking-off process. I thought they’d cut it off with a giant pair of buzzing scissors, but instead they cut straight down through, with a vibrating blade: press down, break through, pop it back up, move to the next spot. As the woman sawed away, the machine screaming, my son leaned as far away from the machine as he could without failing off the table, his arm stretched out straight behind him, a look of terrified hilarity plastered on his face. I couldn’t stop giggling.
Then the x-rays…again. He’s healing most excellently. Lots of new bone growth.
And then it was time to take the pin out, whoo-hoo!
I was super excited about this. For days, I have been waking up disappointed because it wasn’t pin-removal day. I was all tingly excited to:
a) see what was under the cast (he’d been in a fair amount of pain over the last few days—said it felt like he had a worm in his arm, and my husband was like, “Yeah, a pin worm, ha-ha.”), and
b) to see how they’d pull the pin out (either straight-up yanking or local anesthesia).
Sometimes I think that, in another life, I might have been a doctor. I’m fascinated by emergencies and blood and how the body works, though not in any real serious sense. I don’t hold scientific facts in my head for more than three seconds, and I have no pressing need to do lab work, but I do adore the excitement of say, yanking three-inch long pins out of arms. So I guess it makes sense that I pushed our older son in the direction of emergency medicine? And that he immediately latched onto the idea? The intrigue must be genetic.
The doctor grabbed the end of the pin with a large pair of pliers and then twisted the pin gently back and forth to loosen it.
Bit by bit, the pin emerged…
And then, suddenly, it was all the way out, ta-da!
The sheer size of the pin made us both yelp.
It was huge!
And shiny clean!
And sharp at one end!
The kid said the procedure hurt terribly—“like my arm was getting ripped off!”—but he didn’t make a peep, so I doubt it was that bad.
Before they put on the next cast, his third, I requested permission to wash the arm (they weren’t going to wash the arm, can you believe it?!), and then they slapped a band-aid over the hole and back into a cast his arm went.
Three more weeks with a hard cast and then (probably) a couple weeks of a soft cast.
The entertainment’s been great, but I’m about ready for this saga to be over.