Throwing stuff at the internet to see what sticks
Wednesday, August 15, 2007 Casting Special
This morning was M. Small's appointment with the orthopedist, to learn whether or not he was going to need a cast or something for his leg. We got our answer.
As you can see, he's totally heartbroken over it.
Just like his previous appointment on Sunday, he was a champ. He did spill a small cup of water on the tile floor at one point, but that was more my fault than his. Even when the doctor was prodding his ankle to figure out where it hurt, M. Small didn't even pause for breath in his monologue about all the road construction equipment we'd passed on the way to the clinic. And when the cast was actually applied, he sat still and quiet on my lap the whole time. This was probably more because he was fascinated by the whole process than due to any desire to be cooperative, but I'm taking it.
They gave him a little ring holding some color swatches, so he could pick which hue he wanted to wear for the next two weeks. He vacillated between a couple of different shades of blue, as well as black and day-glo orange before finally settling on the hue above that makes his lower leg look like a giant highlighter. Trash approved because it matches absolutely nothing he owns.
When the doctor told us that M. Small's cast would have a Gore-Tex lining and thus he would be allowed to wear it in the water, we were thrilled. He could still take baths and go to the pool. We would just need to tip it up and let it drain out afterwards. It wasn't until the plaster tape was drying that we learned that was about the only place he can go.
For instance, he can't go in the sandbox, because the grit will work its way in and not get back out until the cast gets cut off. This will be a disappointment to him, as he's currently in a phase where he enjoys going out back and playing in the sandbox with his construction toys. But it's also worse than that, because he can't go to any playgrounds, either. Why? They're all carpeted in sand. I suppose I can still bring him to the one that's a little further away and has a bed of shredded tires, but that place kind of weirds me out.
He also made sure that when we do go to the pool, don't let him run around too much on the pool deck, which is concrete. That will cause undue wear on the bottom of the cast, and the next thing you know his injured leg is barefoot.
This also means that we can't take him for the walks around the block he enjoys so much, unless we carry him or stick him in a stroller. That's because the sidewalks in out neighborhood are also concrete. And if you're about to suggest an area where the sidewalks are made out of shredded tires, I don't want to hear about it.
There's always the indoor park, which we have a yearlong pass to but usually don't bother with when the weather's nice. Except of the three things he likes best, two -- climbing in the giant Habitrail and bouncing around in the inflatable thrill ride he calls the "jumpy castle" -- are right out. And the third, the swingset, was removed several weeks ago.
Also to be avoided? Hardwood floors. In addition to the extra weight he's now lugging around, the smooth bottom of the cast affords no traction at all. Kind of a bummer that the rooms in our house where he spends the most time in are the ones with no carpeting. An egg-shaped bummer on the left side of his forehead, to be precise.
And of course the short camping trip we were considering for this weekend is probably not a good idea. The cast looks pretty tough, but I don't know if it's a good idea to spend an entire weekend grinding dirt into it.
In fact, he's more upbeat about it than I am. He's still enjoying the novelty of going step-CLONK-step-CLONK-step-CLONK everywhere, and in fact he drew a small crowd after his appointment while waiting for me to come back with the car, telling everyone, "This is my green shoe!" My mom came over and stayed at our house with him today, to monitor his toes for purpleness, a sign of undue swelling, and she said he had a great time when she put him down for his nap, banging that hard thing noisily against his bedroom wall in a way that makes me glad we still have half a can of the paint we used in there. There was a sad moment in the bath tonight when he realized that he didn't like having it on in the water, and he asked me to take it off. Getting taken out of the bath instead seemed kind of unfair to him on top of everything else.
One of the first things he noticed in the doctor's office was the little rotary saw on the wall that they use to cut casts off. I think it may have freaked him out a bit. But by the time he sees it again, I'm sure he'll be ready for it to do its thing. I know I will be too. posted by M. Giant 8:28 PM 8 comments
For traction you could always put a few dabs of hot glue on the bottom of his cast. That's what my mom did with my brothers cast. It basically acts like a little bits of rubber.
Hie thee to the nearest thrift store and buy an ugly pair of beat-up sneakers a a size or so bigger then the cast, chop off the soles and glue them to the bottom of the cast (hot glue would work, superglue won't.) trim up the edges and voila; a cast he can walk around on concrete in. And if he actually wears throughthe first one, you've got the other one of the pair. 'T won't matter that it's for the other foot.
Oh, and for the camping trip? Plastic bag and duct tape.
Man, I could eat those cheeks with a spoon.
Poor M. Small--I hope the novelty of his cast doesn't wear off too soon. My son broke his collarbone last year when he was two (in Mexico! On vacation!), and had to wear a sling for 6 weeks. Oh, and limit movement of the arm--yeah right!
I am surprised they didn't give you a boot to wear around the cast, unless they don't make them for kids.
It's sad and yet he is so very cute.
Those slippers my mom wears that are basically socks with non-skid soles? Do they make them in kid sizes? Because they would come up over the bottom seams of the cast, making walking on concrete and playing in parts of the playground possible. The sandbox is still out though.