My son, Ian, broke his left arm last Thursday night on our swingset. It's the first broken anything either of my kids have had. Honestly, those of you who know my son- it's a miracle that he didn't break a bone before now. In his six years of life he has had many near misses so I knew that sooner or later he would break something.
I could tell by his scream that something was wrong. He usually doesn't cry for a long time and this scream sounded different. After we got him in the house and looked at the arm, we knew that the big lump that was near his wrist was not supposed to be there. I had some of my friends that had come over for a Girls Night Out and they all had suggestions for what we should do.
I knew what I had to do. My son was hurt and he needed help. I grabbed my keys and purse and Ian's blankie and his stuffed dog Bandit. Rich brought a few other things and carried Ian to the van. We drove 20 miles to the ER with Ian crying the whole way. I tried not to speed, but I think I might have gone a mile or two over the limit. My son was in pain and I wanted him to find relief.
Once we got to the ER, time seemed to stand still. Other than one or two people, no one was going back. We were all in the waiting room. I knew the doctors were behind the heavy double doors- but we had to wait.
Ian did his best to be brave. He asked "How much longer?" every few minutes and when the pain was bad he cried. The first hour was bearable. The next two were hell. Ian cried and cried and both Rich and I did what we could to help him, but we weren't doctors. We told him that he would feel better once he saw a doctor.
There was a moment when Ian looked at me with his big brown puppy-dog eyes and said, "It hurts Mommy! Please take it away."
That's a killer. In that moment I knew what it was to want to take your child's pain away. I would've changed places with him in a heartbeat if I could. But it was his arm that was broken, not mine.
Not that I didn't try to help. Both Rich and I talked to the RN at the desk and kept asking how much longer it would be. Three hours is a long time for an adult to wait- to a kid it would seem like days. Finally they called his name and in the next hour we found out his radius was broken and he would have to have a cast when the swelling went down.
Again- I wanted to take my son's place. I didn't want him to have to go through the pain and discomfort.
I wonder if that's how God feels when he sees us in pain and we have to wait?
He has us in a place where we can get healed- but it takes time.
I wonder what He sees in our faces when we go through "broken arm" moments. Those moments where we try not to cry, but wonder "How much longer?" Those trials that we think we can't hang on one more moment...
As we were heading for the van, Ian said, "I was really brave, wasn't I?" Rich and I told him he was VERY brave. Ian smiled and said, "I got through that hurting time cuz God and you guys helped me." and he gave me a thumbs up.
It was then that I realized that my son had learned a lesson that he wouldn't have learned otherwise.....
I have more musings on broken arms- but I will save that for tomorrow.
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