On Sunday, Gemma awoke with a fever. We couldn't let her go to Sparks, where she would spread her germs.
But Bryan and I both needed to be at Cubbies that day because we were extremely under-staffed and there were jobs we needed to do.
So we dragged her along. Set her up in a comfy chair, with a blanket, drink and movie player. Away from other children.
Then we went about doing our jobs. One of them (that I do not usually do, but love doing) was leading worship for the crowd of pre-schoolers. We play up-beat songs. We have a set choreography for them. I go crazy on the little platform stage, with big, big motions and buckets of enthusiasm. I love watching 85 little kids jumping and dancing and praising Jesus.
Then I found a crack in the stage where two platforms are pushed together. I found it with the same ankle I broke 2 years ago, and I went down. Hard. Gracefully, I'd like to think. But I took the flags down with me, so maybe it wasn't so graceful.
It huuuuuurt. I lay there, just trying to breathe, somewhat conscious that a crowd of children were staring at me, mouths agape.
Bryan and another leader carried me off stage, to the back of the room. A different leader jumped up and continued on with worship. A call went over the security hand-held radios for a "Medical help--Cubbies" and there I lay for a while longer as the medical gal wrapped my ankle and foot with ice.
I was feeling two things, aside from the intense pain: 1) How disappointing. I had really been looking forward to our club. It was a very important story time that I was going to give--the day we tell the story of how Jesus was crucified, how He bore every ounce of God's wrath so that those who believe in Him will not have to.
That's a pretty big deal, a day like that.
Bryan did the storytime instead, and did a good job. But, with 2 minutes to prepare, he pretty much read from the script whereas I'd been planning for a whole week how to present the whole thing. . . Ah. Well. There's always next week: Resurrection!
2) Very deeply, I realized that I did not want to go to the hospital. I have a friend who is a childhood cancer survivor, and to this day, her initial reaction to medical treatment is, "I'd rather not." I get that now. It doesn't make sense, per se. But it's a state of mind and emotion and. . .deep, deep aversion.
ER? No, thank you.
Even if it could involve seeing your buddy, Mayfield, again? It wouldn't, and even if it did, no, thank you.
I spent the whole club in the teacher's lounge, on a comfy couch, with frequent friends visiting when they had a few moments free from their own duties. Bryan did not only his own huge job, but also mine and also those of a few other leaders who couldn't make it. It's crazy how hard he worked.
And, by the end of the 2 hours, the pain had recessed quite a bit, the swelling had not gotten worse and there is now no pain around the ankle whatsoever.
(The whole time, I had been explaining: we kept the plate and pins in so it would not break again. This was comforting until a sports medicine guy, who leads games in the TnT group came in and said, "You could have sheared the pins right out. Happens all the time."
Oh great. But it didn't happen this time! Thank You, Jesus!)
In all, I'm tempted to say, "I should have just stayed home with Gemma." But, I don't know, maybe it's a good thing this happened. At the last, God will use this for the good of those who love Him. That's a promise in the little things as well as the big.
I have been using my crutches and walking boot yesterday and today. I can already stand on it full pressure without pain. The swelling has gone down a bit. I'll continue to stay off it mostly and flex it often.
Gemma's fever remained. Was worse, actually, when she awoke Monday. She threw up Monday night, and now I know what it's like to clean up puke with a bum leg. But she's well trained, in that--here's a tip, parents of young ones!--she had a towel nearby, spread on the floor, and she threw up onto it. Clean-up is fairly easy this way.
Today, her fever is far better and she's actually drinking fluids. It would be really nice if Josh did not get this. . . . Nor Bryan nor I!
So. A "down" week. They kids are watching a lot of PBS kids programming. I'm on the couch with my foot elevated, reading a lot as well.
I could ask Josh to be our universal helper, but I am glad to get up and crutch around to wait on them both because it's great exercise. Seriously. Crutching is a full-body workout. And I'm glad to have some pretty keen crutching-skills.
(Oh? You don't think there are such "skills" to master? OK, smartie pants, you tell me how to get up and down stairs safely while on crutches.)
This all reminds me of when the ankle was broken and Mom was here to help (especially with Joshua, who was just 2). I would come down in the morning with my special stair-crutch method and Mom would lead the kids in a chorus of, "Here comes the lady with the walking sticks!"
I still hear their voices when I come down now.
I've read aloud to them, too. And yesterday, she had a spell where she felt up to working on a giant floor puzzle.
They had just finished a little bit of fresh mango, so maybe that was what energized her. But soon, she fizzled out. She asked if she "had" to finish the puzzle.
I said, "No, of course not, honey. But, then, it would feel nice to finish something today, wouldn't it?" You know that feeling--of just sitting around vegetating. It takes an emotional toll. Maybe she's old enough to register what it means to feel satisfaction in completing a little something, at least.
She looked at me with a furrowed brow. How could doing a puzzle help her feel "nice"? So, fine. She's not there yet.
Then Joshua said, "But Mommy! She finished her mango!"
Good point, son.
We also played a few quiet games. One of them is called "Patchwork," and it is terrific. Like Sorry!, it's a game that Joshua can play with no help at all, and yet is still fun and challenging for everyone else.
It's extra-challenging with him, actually, because the point of the game is to gather "sets" of cards by swapping them around the table with other players, whose permission you do not need. Joshua plays this game with a mischeivious gleam in his eye and lips set in a trouble-making line. He swaps the cards like a mad-man. There is no discerning his strategy, no way to plan ahead to protect your cards. Your own plans can vanish at his whim.
Gemma and I look at each other often, shaking our heads at his moves.
When we were playing with Bryan last week, Josh was in fine form at this, and Bryan kept lifting his eyebrows to me as though to ask, "Why does he do that?"
I smiled and, quoting a line from Dark Knight, where the good guy is explaining the actions of the bad guy, said, "Just to see it burn."
But then Josh came up with a 6-card set. So maybe there is some reason to his mayhem.
If this is as crazy as it gets--the foot sprain, the fever, the game plans gone awry, we're having a great week.
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