The boys and I loaded up and went up to the hospital again this morning for more x-rays on Levi’s arm. I think the right side of his body is going to be glowing soon.
The news was not good. The doctor has never been thrilled with the rate at which the bone is healing, so it’s not a total surprise, but still unwelcome. Rather than knitting together, the bone actually seems to be drifting apart again. They’ll have to open it back up and see what needs to be done. Maybe a screw, maybe a pin. Maybe both. Maybe they’ll bake four-and-twenty blackbirds in there.
My attitude leaves much to be desired. I know that we have much to be grateful for, and many people are in much worse situations. I know that my two most important senses – perspective and humor – will snap back into place soon, and I will organize a babysitter for Elias and make a packing list and start cracking wise. It will all be fine. Levi will be fine. I will be fine.
But for now, I am just frustrated, and angry, and sad. The doctor (late 50s? early 60s?) said he’s never had a break like this not heal; he’s never had one that he’d already operated on and had to open back up. I know there’s no point asking why us (and could I possibly be more whiny?), but I can’t help feeling like we keep drawing the short straw. I mean, really. One? In his entire career? And it has to be Levi? Because it’s not like he doesn’t have to put up with enough garbage.
It’ll probably be scheduled for Friday, and I’m sure by then I will have pulled myself together. For now, I feel like this:
I am not getting my way, and I don’t like it.
So. I’m having a pity party. You’re welcome to join me. Please bring a pint of Ben and Jerry’s. Or a burger from Swenson’s. I’m not picky.