My daughter The DQ. That was her blog name before I came out of the closet with my kids’ names. The Drama Queen. Whoever invented that phrase was either a bloody genius, or had a child like mine. A true drama queen. I have blogged about her drama in the past. See here. To briefly recap, everything hurts really bad. For example: “Mommy I was playing ball and I twisted my wrist and it hurts really bad”.
Yesterday she and one of her neighborhood friends went for a walk. They returned a short while later. The DQ a.k.a. Kering Grace tells me a horrific story of ankle trauma. Apparently she was walking along minding her own business, when her ankle mysteriously turned, and of course it “hurt really bad”. It never appeared swollen, so I gave her the usual routine about how I was sorry she got hurt, but there is nothing to be done for a sprained ankle.
This morning she took one of those stretchy bandages and wrapped it from her NOT swollen ankle to her knee. From her ankle to her knee. Yes, I said it twice. I didn’t say a word. Next, she busted out the crutches. I still didn’t say a word, though I was mentally rolling my eyes. I didn’t say anything for two reasons. The first reason is that I woke up in a very bad mood this morning. I knew if I said anything at all, it wouldn’t be nice. The second reason is because I figured she would get to school, and the novelty of the crutches would wear off in an hour or two. Then the crutches would start rubbing her pits and become uncomfortable.
I am sure my dad down in NC remembers when I came to his house with a sprained ankle. I mean a really, truly, sprained ankle. I remember it. I actually have a real story behind mine. Not a pansy story like Keri’s about going for a walk and spraining an ankle. Who sprains their ankle while going for a walk anyway?
I have blogged about being in a foster home a long time ago. My siblings and I were removed from my mother’s home. The foster home my sister and I ended up in was really nice. We ended up with a really nice, well-to-do couple. They had a three story house (which I thought was SO cool). The phone and rang and I took off running down the stairs to answer the phone. I decided at some point that it would just be faster if I jumped the rest of the way down the stairs. I jumped and landed on my ankle. Now THIS sprained ankle was the mother of all sprained ankles. It was purple, it was swollen. My dad picked me up the next day and I went to live with him. I limped around on it for a couple of weeks. When it didn’t improve my dad took me to the doctor.
Now THAT my friends, is a sprained ankle. THAT is a real injury that I received while attempting the truly heroic act of jumping down the stairs. That was an injury to be proud of. A two week sprained ankle that required a trip to the doctor. I am telling you, that kid has NO IDEA what real pain is all about.