Despite my aspirations of embarking on a calm and restful day, yesterday began as chaotic. Typical to his routine, Robby lamented going to school and procrastinated getting dressed until the last minute. When I finally told him that we were in the final countdown, he stormed to his room. I went to into the kitchen to put his lunch into a bag.
I heard the door slam, and then a moment later, I heard Timmy cry. He cries every morning when Robby locks him out of his bedroom, so to be honest, I didn't think much of it. As the seconds ticked by, I realized that there was something different in Timmy's cry. I put down the vanilla pudding cups and went sprinting down the hallway.
My poor little Hamlet's thumb was pinched and trapped in the door jam. I immediately opened the door and scooped him up. I tried to look at this thumb while rocking him, but he was protective and wouldn't let me examine the ouchie. When his sobbing calmed to a whimper, I put him in the car to take Robby to school.
Timmy is my rough and tumble kid. He is adventurous and mischievous, a combination which often results in bumps and bruises. He usually cries for a moment and then moves on. When he was still whimpering 45 minutes after the incident, I knew that something was wrong. When I arrived at Robby's school I was finally able to glimpse his thumb. It was swollen to twice its normal size, and a disturbing shade of purplish red.
I left Robby's school and drove directly to an Urgent Care office. It turns out that Timmy's little thumb is fractured. It is not dislocated, so a cast is not recommended. Instead we are to try to ice the appendage and provide ibuprofen for pain. The fracture should heal on its own, and we were instructed to follow Timmy's lead about use.
Trying to ice the hand of a two year old is a fruitless task. He won't sit still long enough for any benefit. Improvising, I put the ice packs away and filled up the sink with water and ice cubes. He pushed the learning tower over to the sink and happily splashed and played in the cold water for 30 minutes. By the time he was finished, the ice was melted and water was all over my floor, my counter tops, and my little boy, but his hands were cold and the swelling was reduced.
I feel horrible that Timmy has experienced his first broken bone, but probably not as guilty as Robby. I venture to guess that he cried almost as much as Timmy over the incident. He is wracked with guilt for slamming the door and injuring his brother. I know that it was not intentional, and I have no doubt that the days of slamming doors are over.