LW is an enthusiastic and expressive child. He constantly uses his hands when he talks (where he gets that from, I’ll never know) and his facial expressions are priceless. He has quite a flair for the dramatic to say the least. It really should not have surprised us then when during our impromptu visit to the Park City Urgent Care last week, he gave quite the performance.
I would like to preface this story by saying that the WORST experience LW has ever had with a doctor is getting his shots. Knock on wood, but the kid has never broken anything, never been seriously ill, nothing. Nada, zip, zero. What I’m trying to say is that the child has absolutely no reason to be afraid of doctors or hospitals. None. But apparently he is afraid….
LW took a spill in a bouncy house and started screaming bloody murder on Saturday afternoon. After spending a few minutes poking and prodding him, we determined he could not stand on his ankle. We thought it was a sprain and headed back to the condo for some tylenol, ice and the couch. An hour later, LW’s foot was not very swollen, but he was whimpering and crying in agony whenever he moved his foot the tiniest little bit. Rob and I thought it might be broken after all and we should probably get it checked out just in case, so off we went.
The minute we picked LW up and swooped him to the car he started screaming. “I DON’T WANT TO GO TO THE DOCTOOOOOOOOOR! MY ANKLE IS FIIIIIIIIIIIINE!!!!” This shrieking was accompanied by many tears and a lot of thrashing. We went anyway.
The events at Urgent Care may have been amusing if the LW had not been so honestly and genuinely terrified. No amount of comforting and soothing would calm him down, instead we heard things like this shouted at the top of his lungs:
- I’m going to die in this place!
- These doctors are trying to kill me!
- I’m never going to walk again!
Two hours and five X-Rays later, he was still crying. Loudly. Rob finally managed to distract him with an episode of Phinneas and Ferb on the iPhone and the volume dropped considerably until the very nice doctor came over to talk to us. She asked LW questions about where it hurt and every one of his answers ended with “….but don’t touch my foot!” He continued to cry until, turning his head to the side, he spied a little white bucket on the shelf.
“Hey” *sniff sniff* “what’s in there?”
I put the bucket on the bed beside him and he discovered dozens of plastic bones and rubbery tendons inside. The tears stopped immediately. Not one more was shed. Dry eyes. As he looked contentedly through the bones and tried to find an ankle, we finished up with the very nice doctor who told us he would get a brace and he would be fine.
We went home with two giant headaches for Mom and Dad and this fancy piece of footwear for the kiddo.
Did I mention that this happened on the Fourth of July? Yep. Fireworks? No thanks Utah, we brought our own!