Tough and Mean

Steve's mom has this expression . . . anytime she has to do something hard, painful, or otherwise unpleasant, she says "Tough & Mean", meaning put mind over matter and get 'er done. This expression has carried over into our family on many levels, whether it's a scraped knee, exhaustion, or just something new and a little scary.

After a month in a cast, we headed back to the orthopedic doctor this week for Grant's follow-up. Steve and I are both firm believers in being honest with the kids. So when Grant asked us if it was going to hurt, we said it might, but that he was strong and brave, "tough and mean", and it wouldn't last for long.

While we waited, we did our best to distract him from thinking about it too much.

The cast removal went well.

Since they had to cut Grant's first cast off to put on a higher one, the rotating saw was no big deal. Grant giggled through the whole thing, saying it "tickled" his arm.

When they pried the cast off, there was his little arm, slightly shriveled, and covered in dead skin.

Next it was down the hall to get a new X-ray taken. Grant held his arm close to his body, afraid of moving it.

Dr. Schwartz, the orthopedist, came into the exam room, looked at the X-rays, and said that things looked good, there was evidence of new bone filling in the fracture, and he felt like it was time to remove the pins.

He gave us two options:

Option 1—take Grant back to the Operating Room, put him under general anesthesia, and pull the pins out.

Option 2—Pull the pins right then and there, with no anesthesia or sedative. He said it would be mildly uncomfortable, but that if Grant resisted, he could stop and schedule an OR.

The risks of general anesthesia (not to mention the expense and no food/drink for 8 hours prior) seemed a bit excessive for something that would only take a couple of minutes. The doctor asked how stoic we thought Grant would be, and then he looked at me, and asked if I thought I could handle it. Seriously??? After very little discussion, Steve and I opted that if at all possible, we'd like to try and have the pins pulled right there.

As the doctor was getting things ready, Grant laid back and with tears in his eyes, asked me "Why did you even make me play on that playground? I didn't want to play on the playground!" A little late for that discussion, I think. . .

I stood at Grant's head, with his little face cupped in my hands, trying to keep his eyes focused on me, instead of his elbow as the doc went to work.

He swiftly and deftly went to work, wiggling, prying, and then pulling out two 3+" nails from my baby's elbow. Grant barely whimpered, just said "ow, ow, it hurts!"

When it was over, and we saw the pins laying on the table, both Steve and I almost passed out. The thought that moments before, those had been inside his bones was just more than we wanted to imagine! Steve piped up and said "There is no way I could have done what Grant just did. No way. Knock me out."

They wrapped it in gauze for a bit to stop the bleeding and sent us out to the hallway to wait. As we sat there, Grant said "Well that wasn't so bad!" Maybe not for him . . .

A small bandaid later, and we were on our way. He's still favoring it a bit, and doesn't yet have full range of motion, but he's on his way. No PE, gymnastics, or monkey bars for another month to make sure things are completely healed, but he should be back to full activity in no time.

Both Steve and I are still amazed that Grant handled the whole experience as well as he did. Sure, there were moments of pretty intense pain, and the hassle, discomfort, and awkwardness of being in a cast. But through it all, and especially when they pulled out the pins, Grant has been the epitome of "Tough and Mean" . . . in a nice sort of way :)