It was the end of Matthew’s eighth grade year of school. As usually, kids get rowdy and a girl in his class decided to do a cartwheel right near Matthew in the hallway, which wasn’t very smart. Matthew raised his hand to block her from kicking him. Afterwards, he complained that he hurt his finger. He asked to go see the nurse which the vice principal was there as well. He was greeted with, “no big deal, put your finger in between two tongue depressors and it’ll be alright.” I was called to come pick him up (for which again, mother of the year) wasn’t happy. Everyone in the office said that they thought Matty was just fine.
Matthew got into the car and said it really hurt. I knew from times past, that if Matthew said he was hurting, he must be hurting. Case in point, he broke his collar bone and didn’t tell anyone how bad it hurt until he fell on it (again) for which we took him to the orthopedic doctor who informed us that he had broken it TWO weeks prior! He never said a word. How the heck were we supposed to know! Not wanting to repeat that ordeal, we went right to the orthopedic doctor and they took x-rays. At first, the doctor thought all was ok and wrapped his hand and told him to take it easy. Matthew being Matthew, was hungry. We were in the local grocery store when my cell phone rang and it was the orthopedic doctor telling me that Matthew’s hand was much worse than expected. We were to immediately go to the orthopedic surgeon right away. Ok - that got my attention. We did as we were told and when we got there, this surgeon (as Matthew and I affectionately call him Dr. Bedside Manor) said if Matthew did not have surgery tomorrow his finger would immediately start to heal crooked and he would lose the use of his finger for good. Ok, this train is going to fast, I want to get off now. We called the school to let them know that Matthew wasn’t fine, and to pray for him tomorrow as he was going to have surgery!
The next day came and we were in the surgical center bright and early. It was supposed to start at ten in the morning but no, it was closer to one in the afternoon. I called the school at noon to find the vice principal frantically telling me that they stop classes at ten to pray for Matthew. I didn’t know what to say other than, “thanks - I’m sure the prayers will hold over to one o‘clock!”
The surgery was a success and afterwards, Dr. Bedside Manor said that this type of surgery is only performed maybe one or two times a year! So much for it’s no big deal. It came time for the stitches to come out and Matthew and I went together. I know I was more scared than he was. We were sitting there and all I kept saying to Matthew was “look at Mommy, look at me!” “Don’t look at your hand!” Dr. BSM calmly said - “stop it, he can look if he wants to.” Matthew was a trooper and all went well. Thankfully, he has almost one hundred percent recovered from the accident and we look back and laugh (now) how what started out as a ordinary day at school turned into a nightmare turned into a blessing. We had everything, everyone that was supposed to be in our path those days and weeks. Again, angels amongst us…even Dr. Bedside Manor. Ton o’ blessings to ya until next time!