The problem with starting a mystery is that eventually the answer must be revealed and this time, it isn't very exciting.
Remember when I tore my ACL by rollerblading? The story was improved by the fact that I was training for the marathon and had just finished my 17-mile training run when disaster struck! Duh, duh, duh, duh!(That's the exciting music)
Lately, my family has been beset by ho hum injuries. Grace sprained her ankle this fall but never knew for sure how she did it. Maybe overuse of flipflops as she sprinted across campus.
This time, the crutches and the aircast belong to:
The rather blase story is that he stepped off a curb onto uneven ground and rolled his ankle. He called me and said he thought he'd broken it.
When I arrived, two adult women were there applying ice. He was pale and sweaty. I suspected he wanted to avoid the swim meet the next day, but like the good mother I pretend to be, I didn't say that.
I didn't rush him to the emergency room because I have made that mistake before. He broke this ankle when he was seven. He has injured it a couple more times. I think the sweating and the paleness come partially from that memory of the broken one.
The urgent care at Children's Hospital took an xray and determined that it was a sprain. No weight on it for 7 to 10 days. No swimming.
More ice cream, please, for Tucker who is forced to loll on the couch for a week.
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