The sick and the injured

The little man had just fallen asleep. We were on day three of a fever, and he was taking an unusual morning nap. The phone rang at 11:00 am. It was Caroline's sweet teacher telling me that she had fallen off the monkey bars and landed flat on her back. The general consensus was that she was okay, the fall had likely just knocked the wind out of her and she was sore. So because she is five, and because she was very upset, we picked her up and brought her home.

Then the phone rang at 1:00 pm. Ella had fallen off the monkey bars and landed on her arm. I said "no, you mean Caroline, and I already picked her up". They said "no, we mean Ella". I said "seriously"? They said "yes". So I said "okay my little wounded battalion, back in car, another soldier is down". Later I called the doctor because Ella's arm did indeed seem legitimately hurt. I spoke with the nurse who asked me a series of 8 questions. The last question was "are any of her limbs severed?". As I answered "no", I wondered why that was question 8. Shouldn't that have been question 1? I really should have answered "yes" just for fun, but I wasn't presently in the mood for such games.

We spent the next day in the orthopedic office, only to find out her arm wasn't broke. For the most part I was relieved it wasn't broke; but I will not deny that there was a small part of me that was sort of hoping there was a legitimate reason for all the time, money, and arm strength I was exerting while wrestling Thomas in a doctor's office much of the day. The good news was that she would be fine to return to school tomorrow, and after a long week of sickness and injuries, the next day would calm down. I really should know by now that the next day never calms down...Ella woke in the night with a fever. And so the saga continues, and I am in the process of learning to be grateful. For each day is a day that the Lord has made, even the sick and injured ones.