Bracing for a Fall

She is a great climber. It is what brings the biggest smile to her face. To her heart. She has been in a climbing class since the first day she was old enough, at five, to get on that wall. I have plenty of video to confirm this, if you are interested. And even if you are not.

Yesterday morning she fell while climbing. At a playground. Landed awkwardly. Must have braced herself with her arm. 

The local hospital was not equipped to perform surgery. The displaced fracture, from what they could determine, would not heal on its own. Then the scrambling began.

Luckily we have a relative who is a magician. She can pull the right answer out of every question. A call to her and minutes later a hospital in NYC, more than 100 miles from that playground, was at the ready for the arrival of that little six year old.

It turns out that traveling down the Harlem River/East River Drive on the afternoon of the New York City marathon is not ideal, especially when you are actually interested in getting to a destination before the stroke of midnight. While it holds momentary fascination to witness runners traversing the 138th Street bridge, it becomes less compelling to search for competitors with each passing mile, with each succeeding exit that is blocked by a police car mandating your continued travails. Finally, opportunity presented itself a mile too far and many minutes too late. But at long last, the principal of this tale appeared where, unfortunately, circumstances dictated

Her mom carried her from the car into the emergency room. My granddaughter was very brave, braver than I had imagined she would be, she could be. And when she and her parents disappeared from the waiting area into the back, where she would be examined, X-rayed, examined and X-rayed some more, my wife and I settled in to our task of keeping the patient's little brother distracted and happy.

The word all along was that surgery would be required, if not last night, then today. Finally, the surgeon gave a definitive answer.

When the six year old came into the house at 10:30 last night, there was a big pink cast on her arm. It turned out, to my rudimentary understanding, the displacement was not wide enough to require the assistance of a surgeon to heal.

Her mom and dad tucked their first born into bed, both of them exhausted from the rigors of the day and unbelievably grateful at what appeared to be their daughter's good fortune. They smothered her in kisses as they turned out the lights.

I worry that my granddaughter won't be as fearless on that wall when she next climbs. Or that she will decide this activity holds too much risk for her to attempt it at all. It would hurt my heart if I didn't get to once more see that pure joy at the top of a hard climb, the almost giddy bouncing up and down when she returns to earth still floating in the air from the exhilaration of the moment.

But I give thanks that her own marathon day ended better, far better than anticipated. And grateful that this Humpty Dumpty could in fact be put back together again with such relative ease. It is quite amazing how bad becomes good when worse is the alternative.