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My Little Pony broke his fetlock!

Or to be technically correct: my youngest son fractured his elbow.

My sweet, tender, Little-Bear-lovin' young 'un is hurt. He's only 9. I hate to see him in pain. I especially hate to hear him crying his lungs out with pain. Here's the deal. My kids are not what you call 'athletes'. Mathletes, perhaps...but they're not down with the physical coordination thing.

Tuesday after school, the day I had to rush to my dentist in another town, the day I had no time to spare, the day I had all planned out...tragedy struck. I had told my #2 son that when he got off the bus at my school, we would go out to the LSUV and wait for #1 son's bus to arrive, then go meet Grandma, who was driving us to my dentist. They understood the plan. I was locking my classroom door about the time #2's bus arrived. He always runs down the hall to my room, that sunny little guy who does not remember each and every day that 'Mom always says, You can't run in the hall'.

I had set down my bags of homework, and had just completed the locking of the door. I heard a commotion. I looked up the hall to see my boy in a heap on the floor, just outside the teachers' workroom, crying his eyes out. A high school girl was helping him up. His arm kind of flopped. I should have known from my years of breaking kids' arms as a high school coach that the arm-flop is a sure sign of breakage. But no. Mrs. Hillbilly Mom was in denial. The girl brought me his backpack. "I think he tripped on that strap," she said. "Are you OK, buddy?" My boy whimpered, "I don't think so." I thanked her, and ushered the boy to my doorway. I thought there might be a little bump on one side of his arm. I knocked and tapped on the bone ends, looking for that 'referred pain' sign of a broken bone. My Little Pony did not seem to feel any more pain with the tapping. He said, "I think it will be all right."

I took Pony Boy to the LSUV and helped him in. He carried his arm in his hand. Another sign I denied. I told him we had to get to the dentist (who had already rescheduled this appointment from before, and only works late on Tuesday nights) and if it still hurt after that, I would take him to the ER. He didn't think he needed to go. I put a cold can of Diet Coke on his arm. He continued to cry. I debated on the dentist, and called my mom. "Oh, he'll feel better. If not, you can take him after the dentist." The #1 son arrived, and taunted his brother. "You're not hurt, you big baby! You just want to go to the emergency room and spend all our Christmas money and next year's vacation money! Stop that crying!" Of course the Pony bawled all the more. I took off, and Pony squawked that he wasn't buckled in. I told #1 to belt his brother.

The whole way to the dentist, the boy cried. I called HH, who works in the area of the dentist, and told him to come by and take a look. By this time, My Little Pony had decided that he wanted his dad to take him to the ER. "Anything to make it stop hurting faster." HH took one look, and said, "He needs to go to the emergency room." Off they went. I, on the other hand, had to keep my appointment. Which is a story for another day.

An hour and a half later, I called HH to see what was going on. The Pony had broken a bone near his elbow. The ER staff said it was not near the growth plate, and he needed a cast, but they wouldn't do it, he had to go to his primary care physician. Darn those insurance moneygrubbers! Where's Hilary's universal health care system when you need it? Sooo...they sent the boy home around 7:00 p.m. with a prescription for Tylenol with codeine and a splint. With no doctors or other pharmacies open, I had to go to The Devil's Playground, where it took them 20 minutes to get the insurance card info right in their system, and another 30 minutes to fill the $4 prescription. Bumbling Handmaidens!

This morning HH took the Pony to his doctor, who called an orthopedist, who reviewed the X-Ray On Disk and declared that the fracture IS in the growth plate, and the boy needs to go to Children's Hospital, which did not have and appointment until Friday, or Cardinal Glennon Children's Hospital, which also did not have an appointment, so he goes Friday at 1:30 to a pediatric orthopedist in Chesterfield to see if this dislocated piece of bone can be 'popped back in' or if he will need a pin put in. All parties assured HH that the wait of 4 days from fracture to diagnosis would not matter (I guess, unless you're the 9-year-old with a dislocated bone piece in tremendous pain), and that the ER should have called the on-call orthopedist Tuesday night. Which sounds like a bit of double-speak to me. While My Little Pony is suffering.

Oh, and the Pony's side of the story is that he was just starting to run, and his toe caught on the floor, and as he fell he tried to stop from slamming his face into the tile, but he couldn't get his arm out fast enough.