The Broken Arm

June1, 2016

My son broke his femur at three years old. They couldn't cast it right away because he had to be put in traction first. Imagine keeping a three year old boy tethered to a bed; it was a long three weeks for him. But after the bone got pulled into place, they could cast his leg in a spica cast. Seemingly immobilizing not only his broken leg but the other leg as well, held apart by a stick. But the thing is, once he figured it out, the cast  only limited him slightly. He learned to walk around like a little chimpanzee, kind of pivoting from one foot to the other as he moved forward. He even managed to join his brothers with their wheeled toys riding down a hill in a wagon.

I relate this story because a cast offers stabilization, support, strength and only limited mobility issues. Whereas no cast offers no such thing.  In fact, no cast means the broken appendage, in this case, an arm, is just hanging, waiting for healing to take place but still broken, still swollen, still aching, still sore. Every movement that involves that appendage hurts, every accidental bump, every pull, every tug, everything.

So, when you take someone that already has mobility problems, leg weakness, balance, drop foot and you don't cast his arm, life gets pretty complicated . As my son-in-law stated, " you are a physical therapist student's worst night mare." And yet here I am, with no training, trying to make do with common sense and my wits.

Unfortunately, what this mean to my husband is without assistance, he is land locked. Stuck in the same seat all day until somebody (me) can move him.

Nursing care you ask. Nope. For whatever reason they consider this type of care, moving him from one seat to a wheelchair or getting his lunch as custodial care. I mean I get it. I took 1/2 days off from work in the beginning to assist him but after I got him moved and fed him, his need for me was kind of done. Except socially. He's alone all day. And now he can't even get out on his scooter and ride around the yard or go up to our neighbors house. He can't go to his men's group because he worries that someone else unfamiliar with his needs would move him incorrectly and he would end up getting reinjured. He worries about whether he would have to use the portable toilet while no ones there and he battles depression and his feelings of worthlessness.

So a broken arm is more than a broken arm. It's a soul breaker. And for me it's a heartbreaker.