Busy weekend at the Groovy-Mom household. Friday night was a social night, hanging out with friends. Saturday Sal had a soccer game. They won; don’t remember the score. Sal, the self-proclaimed World Class Goalie, played in goal for the first half, and then on the field the second. The team ran over to Franny before the start, at half-time and after the game to rub his head for good luck. It was very cute. (Franny tells me I need to get a new word because I say everything is cute. Cutecutecute!!! — Happy now?)

Carlito had a game to referee at the same time as Sal’s, but my dad took him to it since Frank was working and I can’t be in two places at the same time. Dante had a game later that day, too. They won 8-0. Dante plays on a team with a crew of very talented players that are a lot of fun to watch. Some games are very intense, but the Saturday’s was not (see the score), so the boys had some fun. At one point Dante, a mid-fielder, went for the ball over-zelously (not needing to) and he slid out of bounds, into the spectator section. His friend called from the other side of the field, “Dante, don’t you hurt my mom!!”

Saturday night we ordered pizza and watched the Fifa Qualifier between USA and Honduras. Go USA.

Sunday we went to Dante’s game, another 7-0 win. After the game we hit McDonalds, just me and the boys. I had a $20 limit, so we ordered cheap and split fries. Carlito treated us to brownie melts for dessert with some of his referee earnings. Dante and Franny split a brownie, and Sal and I split one. Carlito took a bite of ours, but didn’t buy one for himself. They were pretty well behaved, save for Dante distracting Carlito so that he could quickly fly in and pull his shorts down. He pantsed Lootie coming in, and he got him at the door before we left. Franny exploded in giggles both times.

We met Frank at home and decided to take advantage of a beautiful day by heading to the park for a while. Dante was reluctant, concerned that he’d miss the Uriah Faber/Mike Brown UFC fight. Boys. Frank assured him we would not. Papi brought his poles along and the boys brought a soccer ball. Can’t leave home without a soccer ball. Things have changed a bit, with Franny’s injury. He was the one who would usually instigate a game or activity, since he was always a bundle of energy. I’m thankful for his recovery, even though it is slow, but sometimes am caught off guard and get a bit choked up.

Sal, making some casts. OK, tecnically Frank did the casting, the boys reeled in.

Franny.

On our walk over to the park, we encountered some geese. As we approached I heard what sounded like a cat hissing. It took me a bit before I realized the hissing noise was coming from the goose in our path. What the..? I’ve never encountered a hissing goose before. My eyes and brain needed to make a visual connection to believe it. Mouth open, heeee-heeeesss — yup, it’s the crazy goose!! Freaked me out. As I attempted to snap a picture of the hissing goose, a mother and her children hurredly passed by. “Watch out, kids, they are MEAN. They’ll nip you.” Killer geese.

They boys started messing around with the soccer ball and Franny stood off in the distance, leaning on his crutches watching. I thought we could go to the park nearby to keep his mind off of the things he couldn’t do (like soccer). “Franny, wanna go try the swing?” We made the journey over and sat on the bench for a while, resting his leg and waiting our turn. Franny removed his shoes, and watched as a father pushed his daughter on the tire swing. When they left, we hurried over.

I pushed him cautiously at first, fearful that his cast would hit the ground or that the tire itself would fly off with him riding right on it. Crazy, I know. But as much as Franny is still recovering from being hit (crossing roads are cheap therapy right now), I’m recovering from the blow as well. I am an anxious, freakazoid worrier by nature — the broken leg isn’t helping. I checked my visions of disaster and focused on the cheek-cracking grin splayed across his face.

After the festival of swinging, we parked it at a table and watched the big boys spout testosterone. Franny took the camera and tried to get a shot of me “not noticing” him with the camera. I was forced to feign ignorance of the camera in his hands. My… look at that pretty grass… is that a camera?

Yeah, me and my sexy Fitovers. They aren’t the most attractive sunglasses, but they are convenient and they do the job.

Time to make the trek back. Sal cools off at the water fountain.

Papi.

My menfolk.

(Don’t ask me why Lootie is saluting.)

On the way home, Papi just had to make a couple casts. No, he’s not drunk. Looks are decieving.

Line-killer.

We made it home in time to make chicken tacos and watch hours of cage fighting. I need to get another girl in this house.

(What did YOU do this weekend? Leave me a link!!)

I’m not good with maps. There is something specifically in the way my brain is wired that prohibits me from being able to properly read and follow a map. It only took me 35 years to fully admit it to myself and call it what it is. Years of having my husband write out instructions, printing them from Google, and getting lost regardless. Of not being able to follow an inner-compass that assures a person that if they take the wrong exit, they don’t need to curl up on the curb in a diaper while the kids call roadside assistance. Of handing the phone to my husband like hot potato whenever “directions” come up in a conversation.

I’m stubborn. I tried. And tried and tried. I’ve been late and lost, frustrated and confused.

And then I saw the light.

It’s called GPS. Or Global Positioning System.

I’ve heard about it, seen ads for them, but never REALLY knew what their purpose was. Beyond that, I considered it to be too much of a luxury item for me to even waste mind space on. Me? Have a GPS? Ha!!

Two weekends ago while I was at yet another out-of-town soccer tournament, we had an emergency change of location. The hotel secured for the team ended up being a complete dive. The parents who arrived ahead of us notified me of the situation (I’m the manager, and was still on the road), and secured another hotel. Between sending out texts to all the parents and fielding phone calls, I would divert any conversation dealing with addresses, locations, maps, and directions to my husband. Thank goodness he was with me or I’d have been a hot mess of distress.

I started to realize later that many of the parents did not have much of an issue finding the new location because they simply plugged the address into their GPS. I kept hearing this numerous times (while I’d kind of roll my eyes and “whatever” when they said it because, again – luxury item that is just off momma’s financial radar).

After a trip to the mall with the boys, I hitched a ride home with another mom (letting Frank take the load of frisky boys). That’s where I got to see a GPS up and close in action. It was an “aha” moment for me. Like meeting candy for the first time or discovering the many uses for vinegar. Beautiful, beautiful. The remainder of the ride was spent discussing the GPS (she is map-disabled as well), “ooh-ing” over the functions and wondering how I ever made it around the block without it.

I realized immediately that a GPS, for me, was not a stupid or foolish novelty, but something that I’ve desperately needed for years. Turmoil avoidance in a handy little machine!! I really didn’t care if Frank (old-fashioned and a stubborn old man at heart) made fun of me, or that his friend thinks GPS systems are for pansies. Good, fine, I’m a pansy. But a pansy with a nice, new Garmin Nüvi 200W GPS. It’s not top-of-the-line, but it was within my budget, gets the job done and will be put to very good use.

The Garmin was pretty much ready to go out of the box. It came with a car charger and a mount. I had a bit of trouble picking up a signal at first, though, and for some reason I keep needing to put my home location in (or maybe that’s the way it is). I haven’t had to use it for an actual trip yet, and honestly haven’t even driven with it — but I did take a walk with it to set it up. Presently it is resting in my car, charging. I’m not really sure if I need to turn it off while it is not in use, or if I just leave it and it sleeps. It’s all a learning experience.

If you have any GPS tips or tricks, I’m all ears. If not, just don’t call me a pansy.

Carlito started refereeing this year. He’s been wanting to be a referee about half as long as he’s been walking this great green earth, waiting to turn 12 –  eligible to take the class and exam. One year for Christmas we purchased him a full referee kit, complete with yellow shirt, black socks, whistle, cards and shorts.

He loved it.

He likes order. He likes rules. Why yes, he would like to be a police officer. Above all, though, he likes money. The way it smells and the buying power that comes with it. He hasn’t earned the nickname “Crabs” for nothing.

We weren’t sure how the whole “class and exam” thing would pan out earlier this year when we enrolled Lootie. It is a $70 fee for class and licensing. We made it his birthday present. You go for like 4 or 6 hours, two weekends in a row. Maybe it was 8 hours? At any rate, Frank and I were both nervous. Lootie’s got some learning issues that make it difficult for him in school, so our fears were slightly increased as to how the exam would pan out in the end. Dante did the class a few years back and did fine, so we were hopeful but still incredibly nervous, using our sarcasm (in private conversations) to work out our jitters.

All the worry was worth it (haven’t let go of the sarcasm). He passed the first weekend with a 98%. The second weekend was the same. Oh the pride and satisfaction on that kid’s face when he got his patch was worth the seventy bucks.

Before he was even assigned a game, he plotted out his evil plan to rule the world –  I mean to purchase an Xbox 360. (Long ago I told the kids I would not purchase any more video anything — they’d have to do it.) Boy, can you motivate that kid with the fresh — or dirty — scent of green.

He’d yabber about it constantly, how he was going to buy it, who would need to pitch in (not only does he enjoy his own money, but he enjoys capturing his younger brother’s money — Franny’s not game to his ploy, but his game-nerd brother Sal sure is).

Lootie almost blew apart – literally, spontaneous combustion – when his first ref game was canceled due to lightening. He would have rather risked being fried to a crisp if it meant he’d have 15 hot bucks in his hand.

As the season continued, he get a few games in, but his big money-maker was to referee a recreational tournament that would push him over the Xbox edge. Who knew his appendix would decide to rot to pieces and burst two days prior? Is it OK for the referee to run the field with one hand on the IV bag and the other on a whistle?

Lootie and Sal the resident “game nerds” of the family (not a mom-given title, but accurate none the less) put their money together and purchased their Xbox. Lootie, no joke, treats it like a newborn. Exasperated– Please, please, don’t leave the games out like this. Oh look at this!! Doesn’t anyone know how to treat something with respect around here? Don’t do that… Cord goes like this just so, not the way YOU guys did it. Running up the stairs after school, first glance at the Xbox – Franny, did you play it? Did you? Oh my GOSH. Look at that? See. Nobody takes care of things… (obsessively checks cords, power supply, game locations).

He’s a special kid.

Yesterday he had another game to officiate. As we pulled up he begrudgingly left the car. They’re all GIRLS (grumble, grumble). I think it was for show. He had to check his eagerness at the door.  Inspects the field, checks in with coaches… then gets to business, asking for his money. One coach gave it up easy; the other one Lootie had to stalk, and stalk he did, for the remainder of warm-up time.

Yeah yeah. Great picture, I know.

It was a cute game to watch. Little squealers chasing the ball. Loo did fantastic with his whistle and commands, taking charge in a manner conducive to his personality. I think he fondled the money in his pocket multiple times during the game. Once he was hit with the ball and he smiled, casual and relaxed, continuing seamlessly. Another he slipped, fell and went on without apparent embarrassment. A spunky player gave a girlie scream (for no reason) and he looked at her as one would at a younger sister – with disgust and affection. He really has a knack for refereeing.

Game over, he came to the van and glanced out the window, back at the field. “That was fun. I liked that. They were fun.” And then he carassed his money.

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Wordless Wednesday

Fire. When you can go camping and have an authentic campfire – the backyard suffices.

Lootie, enjoying the heat and flames…

I had some other posts sitting in queue, but thought I might write about our cast wedging experience instead. Oh the joy.

Franny was about 6-weeks (give a few days) post from breaking his leg. At week 5 he had the external fixator removed and a cast put on. 10-days later he was to come in for a recheck. He used his crutches to walk up to the clinic for the first time. I brought the wheelchair, for back-up, though. X-rays were first, and then the lengthy stay in the exam room. The nurse left the x-rays up for us to look at.

We stared at them for a bit (there were 2), and waited. Someone was getting a procedure across the hall and we’d glance over every now and then. I decided to snap a picture to send to Frank, who was at home with Lootie and the home-health nurse. I felt a glare from one of the attendees across the way, but it is MY kid’s leg, so what do they care? The real-life x-ray  is better, but you can see the 2 breaks (tibia and fibula) here, as well as the 4 holes from the fixator.

The Nurse Practitioner (or maybe it is RN) came in first and looked at the x-rays. She said you could see some good healing going on. She said his Orthopedic Surgeon would be in too look as well and we could ask questions (Franny always has a bunch) then.

He came in, with a “shadow” (training student), looked at the x-rays and started talking about a wedge; said everything looked good. Fibula looked pretty misaligned to me, but the side x-ray showed better alignment (assured the doctor). And they aren’t as picky about the fibula. It is the tibia that they are really concerned about (said doctor), and that one looked like it had shifty slightly. He said some doctors might leave it, but he’d like to have it pushed back. I could hear Franny’s small voice asking if he could weight-bear yet. Then I heard the doctor talk to the nurse. Then I heard Franny ask a bit louder. Doctor said, “Not yet buddy.” And we were rushed across the hall to trade rooms with the prior person in the procedure room.

We were given heavy vests to cover our body (Franny’s flimsily covered his scrotum and if I have grandkids with tenticles, we’ll know why). Franny asked about what they were doing, and they were so busy doing what they were doing, they didn’t answer. I asked them as well, and they said they were going to cut the cast and put a wedge in to place the bone a bit better. They twisted his leg this way and that to get visuals on the live xray; Franny was uncomfortable. “Is it going to hurt?” He asked a few times before getting an answer. They told him it might sting a little. He became more nervous. They used the saw to cut the cast (which he was assured wouldn’t hurt) and at the end he sucked a hard breath and started crying. “It stings really bad!!” They said it shouldn’t of, which he assured them that by golly it did, and then agreed that maybe it might have, since his bone was still broken there. The vibrations might have been uncomforable. I awaited gushing blood to spurt out, but it didn’t happen.

Note to nurse: obviously if he’s SAYING it hurts and he’s crying — it HURTS.

They cut a semi-circle in the back of his cast and shoved a plastic wedge in there to push the bone to a better position. Took a picture, showed the doctor, and were told to place a bigger wedge. The did, and then told Franny, who was crying, “All done buddy!!!” and that he did better than most adults. I asked if it would be sore later. They said maybe, and Tylenol would help.

We left. Needless to say, Franny did NOT crutch it out, but opted for the wheelchair.

Within a half-hour he was sobbing like he’s never sobbed before during all of this. He said it stung and his heel hurt. This is a kid that’s taken NO pain meds so far. Not after surgery the first time, not during stitches removal (which was done by the same nurse who helped with the wedge, and she’s no tender Wendy), not after his rods were taken out. And now he was sobbing as if he had his leg broken all over again. Which, I guess, he sort of did. Less the adrenaline and shock that comes with the trauma experience. He was relaxed and unready to have his healing bone pushed around as it was.

I called the clinic. I had no idea if this sort of pain was normal or abnormal. He’s got a high tolerance for pain, so it seemed very abnormal to me. I would think it to be normal, considering all that went down, but they’d said NOTHING about it being this painful. I conveyed my… exasperation to the nurse. We ended up giving him Oxycontin for about 48 hours, coupled with Tylenol (had the Oxycontin leftover from the hospital discharge – never touched it). It helped tremendously.

Today, four days later, he is doing much better. Thankfully. Though I still feel we went into the situation quite uninformed (and still feel rather uniformed about the progress of everything). I don’t know what the experience is for others who have had a wedge, but I’d say to make sure you have some good painkillers on hand, just in case your experience pain that warrants the use of them.

Last week Thursday Lootie was complaining about belly pain. It was before practice, so we figured he was just trying to weasel around having to go (which is pretty much the norm for him, 80% of the time). He went to practice, had a good time, but on the ride home, his belly was still hurting. He felt nauseous and threw up on the sidewalk outside of our house. “Everytime I eat hotdogs,” he said. He threw up a couple more times, which isn’t completely abnormal for him. When he gets a fever, he’s spacey; when he’s queasy, he pukes. Totally Lootie. But strangely, he wanted to sleep on the couch because of his belly pain, instead of his bed.

At 1am I woke up to Frank, fully clothed, telling me he was taking Lootie to the ER. “It just seems like appendicitis, he said.” Frank is a Correctional Officer. Not a nurse, and totally not interested in medicine. I thought he was completely over-analyzing, but I didn’t stop them from going, or put up too much of a fight, like I normally would have. I think my adrenaline kicked in, despite me riding him a bit for being so silly. I got chilly and couldn’t bring myself back to bed, opting to sit up on the couch instead.

We kept in phone contact, texting and calling. Around 4pm Lootie was distinctively worse, and the nurses gave him some morphine. They weren’t calling it appendix yet, but wanted to get a CT scan to confirm or rule out. At 8am I got all the kids on the bus. Still nothing. Lootie was worse; fevery. My mom came over to sit with Franny (whose tutor was here) while I went up to either relieve or support Frank in the ER.

At 11am, the Resident had Lootie pee in a cup to check him for a urinary tract infection. Just as she was exiting, the General Surgeon, who we became acquainted with when Franny was in the hospital, came by, but his hands on Lootie’s abdomen and said, “Oh yeah. Appendix. Let’s get him up to the OR.” He told us there was one possible person ahead of us, and it might be quick to get him up there, and might be 2 hours. Frank went home quickly to check on things with Franny, while I waited with Lootie. Thankfully, things went faster than planned, and he was in the OR by 1pm.

I waited, anxiously, but somewhat relieved that he was in good hands, and not still waiting for a diagnosis. After an hour and a half, the surgeon came back in to talk to me. He asked me if my book was good, and then he told me that Lootie’s appendix had ruptured. “So, it’s not going to be the 1-day, go-home-tomorrow deal we were hoping for,” he explained. “It could be 4 days, it could be a week. We just don’t know. I was still able to do everything laparoscopically, but depending on how things swing, we might have to put a drain in there, or do longer-term antibiotics.” I started to cry. Frustrated, scared, relieved, sad. He found me some tissues. “He’s going to be OK. Okay? He’ll be fine.”

Strangely, he ended up in the same room Franny was in one month ago. The first three days were very hard. Lootie was in a lot of pain, his temperature was up, and all symptoms were pointing to an abscess. Frank stayed at night, while I stayed during the day. Because of his slow progress by the 4th day, and the intolerance to the sensation of the heavy-duty antibiotics through the IV, the surgical staff thought a PICC line was appropriate. Though it was another scary unknown, it was necessary. It took about and hour and a half to have it done (they had a special PICC Nurse), but most of that was prep; the entire procedure was done bedside. Lootie did very well with it, better than I did.

Within a day he was doing better. The doctor took one look at him and said, “Carlito. You’re going home tomorrow.” Of coarse Lootie was thrilled. Whatever leftover infection that may be/was brewing was under control, or non-existent. Since he can have a home health nurse come to administer the meds via the PICC at home, and he was doing well, he was cleared to leave the hospital. I was still nervous, apprehensive. I mean, I don’t like the hospital either, but it felt safer there. Home with a PICC is kind of scary and totally out of the norm for most people. First pin care on an external fixator, and now PICC line maintenance? I told them I didn’t want to learn it or touch it. As much as I’ve thought about being a nurse, I’ve had enough nursing for a while, now thankyouverymuch.

Carlito is still doing well, carrying around his pump (it works constantly administering a small dose to keep the line clear and a BIG dose every 6 hours) in the fanny pack. It makes me nervous when he’s sleeping (I worry about him ripping it out or something), and just in general. He’s scheduled to have a re-check on Tuesday and hopefully get rid of the PICC as well.

I’m completely ready for our house not to resemble a doctor’s office, though, and my patience is not what it was a couple weeks ago. Franny still needs assistance and care, as does Carlito. I can’t seem to keep up with all of my household necessities, but I try to do my best. My brain is fried, tired and stressed. My boss, bless her heart, has gifted me an hour massage for this Sunday. I’ve never (ever) had a massage and am both excited and nervous.  Someone brought dinner by for us last night, and that was wonderful. We haven’t had a homecooked meal in a long, long time, it feels like.

Today Franny got the external fixator removed and a cast put on. There was actually a foot-holder with a strapped harness that hooked around the top rod, but this picture was taken while it was off. You can see him playing his brother’s handheld game. He usually played a game or watched television as I did the pin care and wrapped things up.

Franny started out very shy, not wanting to even look at the fixator. I’d have to cover it up with an ace bandage because he couldn’t stand looking at the rods and didn’t want other people to see them. For days. Weeks. And then one day he was liberated, I think, by Dante’s soccer team friends. The boys gathered around to ask questions and say “hello” and some of them would freak out at the sight of the rods. Franny would pull the covering back to show more, boldly. They told him he was a tough kid, saying words that empowered him. He’ll even bend his knee up to touch his ear with it, which makes his dad’s stomach sick.

Casts are pretty common, but the fixators you don’t see every day, and sometimes people will hold their gaze longer, or the kids (and moms especially) will be uncomfortable looking at it.  I told him, hey, smile and keep on going. And he did. Sometimes he’d even wave.

Even though going from a fixator to a cast is progress, there is some… comfort in routine. There are also pluses with the fixator, like being able to wash and massage his toes. He likes that. But he was very eager to get a cast, regardless, as casts are more “normal” in the realm of broken legs.

He wanted his hardware.

As creepy as they might be, I’m rather thankful to them for holding my son’s leg back together.

A blue cast was requested, and granted. He also got this toy. Blue was the day’s theme.

Back to elevating the leg above the heart again for a few days. We’ve got that down pat, now, though.

It is the third week of The Broken Leg.

Franny is doing… OK. He had a 2-week check-up and things went fine. Though not a huge amount of healing had taken place, as expected, his bones were still aligned and had not shifted, which is good. The fibula, the smaller of the two shin bones, was still very visibly broken, but the nurse said she saw “bridging” which was good. They did not set the fibula. The tibia, the larger bone, has all the rods in it and I could not see where it had broken with my unskilled eye.

Besides checking alignment, he was also scheduled to have his stitches removed. I couldn’t tell you how many he had, but they went from the outside of his left heel to the inside ankle bone – about 75% of the circumference of his foot. The others were on his shin where the bones had broken. I, personally, do not think the lady was as gentle or meticulous as she should have been, and it was painful for Franny. I regret not speaking up a bit more than I did. She put the steri-strips on his ankle while it was out of the splint, and once the foot was placed back into the splint, the strips had large gaps in them and they weren’t doing any good. Thankfully she had sent us home with more strips, which I put on at home, and they have stayed on since that time.

I have been working at about 50% time, unable to get into the office very much. Mom was going to stop by tomorrow so I could go in for a couple hours. But mainly I’ve been playing full-time nurse to Franny – which I’m not complaining about at all. There are times when I’m up, down, up, down, up and I feel like collapsing, but I still feel for the most part blessed to be able to take care of him and to see him making progress.

Since being home, I’ve been able to actually clean the toilet and bathroom floor almost every day. Seems silly, but I’m really glad about that. I like having a clean bathroom.

The short story is that my ten-year-old son was hit by a car last week after getting off the bus. His leg was broken and his foot and ankle were severely lacerated. He had surgery done and was in the hospital for a few days. He is home now and wearing an external fixator (his does not have the “halo” around it – he has 4 rods and a bar that holds them in place). He will move to a cast in a few weeks.

I’ve typed out the longer version, but I’m not quite ready to do anything with it. We are blessed indeed, as nothing else was injured.

I feel a bit stir-crazy and still like we are in chaos-mode (a few more purchased dinners than usual the past week), but it has also been nice to be home and able to take care of Franny and just be with the family.

Today he had his first shower at home. We purchased a cheap plastic chair and a non-slip floor mat for the tub. We put a garbage bag around his leg and he actually had a very nice shower, holding the removable head, enjoying the warm water. I also did pin care for the first time today, too. You have to clean the pins as directed by the physician. Because he still has stitches, I also needed to put a special gauze on those two areas, too. I was nervous about doing it, but it actually went pretty well.