Today's visit with the orthopedist didn't exactly go as we hoped. I don't know what we were hoping for, specifically, but I'm sure that the appointment was the complete opposite of whatever it was. I couldn't even talk about it at dinner tonight, but I need to process it. So, here it goes.
It took one look for the nurse and resident to decide that Ethan definitely needed another cast. I think deep down I hoped they could somehow save the old one ...like the IV, remember?
Yeah, not so much.
The nurse went as far to say that had we waited until Tuesday to bring Ethan in, the cast would have probably fallen off completely (read: weekend ER visit). I'm thankful they were able to fit us in on a Friday afternoon, but I dreaded the whole thing altogether. After much discussion, we decided that Jeramie would hold Ethan while they took off cast #1 and replaced it with cast #2. I think that worked out better than laying him on a table, but it was still not pretty.
The second the resident turned on the saw, a look of sheer terror came over Ethan's face and he screamed, and screamed, and screamed. Absolutely nothing we did helped. I stayed low to the ground; a) to try and soothe Ethan by stroking his flailing head, and b) because I seriously thought I would pass out. Just the thought of seeing his freshly operated on arm, pin and all, made me queasy. Needless to say, I didn't look. I asked Jeramie what Ethan's hand looked like without the thumb and his reply was "it's just different."
I'm really trying to be OK with "different", but I don't like it. At all.
Ethan calmed down a bit once the cast was finally removed, but he started back up again when they began to re-cast his arm. I'm not sure who was sweating more: Jeramie, Ethan, or that poor resident. Ten minutes later, cast #2 was on but Ethan's fingers were purple. We waited a bit to see if that would change, but it never did.
So, enter resident and nurse (with the saw) and commence terror-filled, agonizing screams.
The resident slit the side of the cast to relieve some of the pressure, then began to re-wrap it. Thankfully, Ethan's fingers pinked up pretty quickly once that change was made.
Thirty minutes after we walked into the room, we were done.
The best word I can think of to describe the appointment is traumatic; Jeramie and I have both shed tears over it since leaving this afternoon. (Yes, my husband cries, and I'm quite proud to admit it.) It seems as though Ethan is back to his normal self now. He played quite a bit (even belly laughed a few times!) once we got home and is now upstairs, sleeping soundly.
Today only instilled even more dread and fear for our next appointment in 5 weeks. I pray that Ethan's new cast stays put until then, and we won't have to subject anyone to another appointment like today's.
It took one look for the nurse and resident to decide that Ethan definitely needed another cast. I think deep down I hoped they could somehow save the old one ...like the IV, remember?
Yeah, not so much.
The nurse went as far to say that had we waited until Tuesday to bring Ethan in, the cast would have probably fallen off completely (read: weekend ER visit). I'm thankful they were able to fit us in on a Friday afternoon, but I dreaded the whole thing altogether. After much discussion, we decided that Jeramie would hold Ethan while they took off cast #1 and replaced it with cast #2. I think that worked out better than laying him on a table, but it was still not pretty.
The second the resident turned on the saw, a look of sheer terror came over Ethan's face and he screamed, and screamed, and screamed. Absolutely nothing we did helped. I stayed low to the ground; a) to try and soothe Ethan by stroking his flailing head, and b) because I seriously thought I would pass out. Just the thought of seeing his freshly operated on arm, pin and all, made me queasy. Needless to say, I didn't look. I asked Jeramie what Ethan's hand looked like without the thumb and his reply was "it's just different."
I'm really trying to be OK with "different", but I don't like it. At all.
Ethan calmed down a bit once the cast was finally removed, but he started back up again when they began to re-cast his arm. I'm not sure who was sweating more: Jeramie, Ethan, or that poor resident. Ten minutes later, cast #2 was on but Ethan's fingers were purple. We waited a bit to see if that would change, but it never did.
So, enter resident and nurse (with the saw) and commence terror-filled, agonizing screams.
The resident slit the side of the cast to relieve some of the pressure, then began to re-wrap it. Thankfully, Ethan's fingers pinked up pretty quickly once that change was made.
Thirty minutes after we walked into the room, we were done.
The best word I can think of to describe the appointment is traumatic; Jeramie and I have both shed tears over it since leaving this afternoon. (Yes, my husband cries, and I'm quite proud to admit it.) It seems as though Ethan is back to his normal self now. He played quite a bit (even belly laughed a few times!) once we got home and is now upstairs, sleeping soundly.
Today only instilled even more dread and fear for our next appointment in 5 weeks. I pray that Ethan's new cast stays put until then, and we won't have to subject anyone to another appointment like today's.
1 comment:
I had no idea what you guys went through with this. I did not know this was an 'unplanned' visit.
I am soooo sorry you guys had to go through that, but I am very thankful you did not wait until Tuesday.
you two are awesome parents and you take extremely excellent care of the bueatiful little boy!!
I love all 3 of the Tri-Mulli.
Grandma A
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