Armed and Sassy

I took Madeline to the doctor today to get her arm checked. Apparently, about ten days ago, there was some kind of playground injury of which I was unaware until about four days ago, when Madeline began loudly and consistently complaining at 15-minute intervals that her arm hurt. She was even up in the night crying about it. Her siblings all corroborated the same extra-hard-shove-and-fall-from-a-jungle-gym-zip-line story. Now, Madeline has still been able to eat, write and practice piano with that arm. She can also participate in swimming lessons, slug her brother, and suck that thumb with gusto, so I really did not think it was a serious injury. 

However, this is from the same mother whose oldest daughter participated in a state basketball tournament, danced in a school musical, and just plain walked around for weeks on end on a broken foot. More than three months later, that foot is still not healed. I am not the most confident in my own judgment these days. 

Maddy followed the typical child script beautifully. About the same time I hung up the phone after making an appointment at the clinic, she declared, "My arm doesn't hurt anymore! It's all better!" We went, anyway.

Now, we are still in the process of wrapping up a year-long transition of switching everyone over to a new family practice doctor. This, after our beloved pediatrician moved to Oregon (or fled us.) The new doctor I chose seems thus far to be equally wonderful; her only flaws being beauty and youth. The children adore her, and she appears to love them-- or at least the guarantee of a steady paycheck because there are so many of us.

By the time we got to the clinic, Madeline was good and warmed up. She told the sweet doctor, "This arm usually hurts, but sometimes it's this one, and these days the pain sometimes travels from this arm up and around my neck and down this other arm. But right now nothing hurts." The doctor examined Maddy carefully, listening as Madeline declared steady and equal pains no matter where on her arm the physician pressed. "Yeah, well, my mom makes us do so many chores! That's probably why my arm hurts so much," Maddy offered. When the doctor said that was because I am a good mom to teach my kids responsibility, Madeline "harrumphed" and was actually quiet, if only for a moment. Conitinuing to shine a light on my Crown of Motherhood, Maddy's doctor also downplayed my self-declared tendency to overlook my children's injuries, urging me to stop beating myself up over Amanda's foot. What would Miss Manners say if I started tipping this woman?

The doctor assured Madeline-- and me-- that the arm was not broken... And was likely just a strain on the flexors (or something medical-sounding like that) and she prescribed a few days of stretching and painkillers. Maddy responded with, "Well, we are having a party this weekend, and our to-do list is FOUR PAGES LONG, so good luck with that!" Then, she skipped off to find the sticker-and-sucker distributor.