Soccer Mom Lesson No. 1: Be Ready for the Hurt

K's injured arm

Two days ago marked the end of my 6-week journey to what I consider being leveled up as a soccer mom. My teenage daughter K had her last appointment with her orthopedic surgeon.  Fingers crossed.

Six weeks ago, while playing goalkeeper during football training, K suffered a wrist fracture on her left arm, her first serious sports injury.  While we were in the hospital emergency room, the ice and splint must have done a pretty good job because she wasn’t feeling much pain. I had somehow convinced myself that it was just a sprain, and that the X-rays would confirm it.

I was so disheartened to be proven wrong.  When the doctor pointed out the all too obvious fracture in the X-ray, I was almost in tears. Then the medical jargon came.  Left distal radius fracture. There was a 16-degree angle, which meant that the bones were definitely misaligned. For her bones to heal properly, they had to be reset.

He discussed two options.  The first was a non-surgical procedure called closed reduction, where the bones are manipulated into normal position by pushing from the outside.  If, however, the bones go back to their misaligned position, a surgical procedure called percunateous pinning will have to be done. Metal pins will be placed to keep the bones in the correct position to heal. Either way, K will have to be treated in the operating room under general anesthesia. The doctor sounded very calm. It was an outpatient procedure, and probably common for children in contact sports. Maybe I didn’t have to be scared, but I was.

After two days, together with my husband, we were back in the hospital for the closed reduction procedure.  Only one companion was allowed in the prep room, so I went in with K. We tried to cope with the extreme coldness of the room with small talk.  It got worse for K when she had to change into a hospital gown. All I could do was drape my sweater over part of her body while she lay on the hospital bed.

After about half an hour, the operating room was ready for her.  As I took her things and left the prep room while she was being wheeled into the OR, for a brief moment, I allowed myself to feel scared and worried.  What if the bones snap back out of position, and surgery for pinning will be needed?  What if she has some unexpected adverse reaction to the anesthesia?  What if, what if, what if?

When I reached my husband in the waiting area outside the OR, my brave face was back on.  The distraction of grabbing a bite to eat and settling medical insurance helped me brush my fears aside.  The procedure took less than an hour, and soon she was in the recovery room.

With my daughter’s clothes in hand and blue shoe covers on my feet, I walked into the recovery room.  K was groggy, but fine.  Her left arm was heavy with her new cast.  I helped her get dressed.  We said thank you and goodbye to the very nice OR staff. We settled the bill and were finally on our way home.

Four weeks after the cast was set, it was freedom day!  X-ray was clear; pain was nonexistent. We were sent back to the OR prep room, but this time in high spirits. There wasn’t even a need for a hospital gown or shoe covers. The doctor came in with his cast cutter, and in five minutes, K’s left arm was free! The timing couldn’t be better because that night, she was able to dress up and dance at her learning center’s family event without her cast!

K’s last follow-up appointment with her orthopedic surgeon was two days ago.  He just wanted to make sure that her bones healed well.  She didn’t feel any pain.  She could squeeze tightly with both hands. Her arm was back to normal. Now, K is slowly rebuilding her strength and endurance because she really wants to get back on that football field.

When my daughter first took up football a year ago, I thought that my duties and sacrifices as a soccer mom were only about paying for lessons, driving her around and being baked in the sun during tournaments. Now, I’ve learned that I have to be prepared to see her get hurt and to deal with the blows with unwavering support.

When we were walking out of the hospital after that final check-up, I told my daughter that I really hope that would be the last time we see that doctor (in a professional capacity, anyway). She replied, “Maybe. Unless, next time, it will be my leg.”

 

 

 

 

 

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