Updated: Mar 4, 2019
My daughter broke her wrist last week. She’s a freshman and plays JV soccer for her high school (okay, yeah that was a shameless proud mom plug 😇). On the night of her injury she was having one of the best games I’ve seen her play in a long time. I mean, she plays well the majority of the time but I remember she told me that she finally began to find her “mojo” with the team and began to really gel with them. So this was her night. And she was going for it.
She plays front line, but this particular position she was playing right striker. There was a loose ball and she and another girl from the opposing team began to sprint for it. They get about 18 feet from the goal, both neck and neck. They both try to win the ball with a kick and Nea takes a tumble catching herself. She bounces back up and continues to play the game. No tears, no whistle, nothing. Let me preface by saying that we have a very high tolerance for pain. So unless something is literally hanging off, we just keep it moving. So, in my soccer mom voice I’m like, “Get back out there! Beat her next time! Let’s go!” She goes on to play the entire game but I notice she’s a bit slower than normal.
We ultimately win the game 6-1. Another victory. She calls me from the field and in her ever so matter-of-fact voice says, “Mom, my wrist hurts. Like, really, really hurts. Like, I think I broke it. And I think I want to cry.
But meet me over at the concession stand.” We meet up and I can tell something is wrong. But I’m assuring her telling her it’s probably a sprain. But we’ll go to the ER just in case.
We breezily head home. I have her take a shower and we even get dinner. Okay, now you’re probably like, “Jeeze! What kind of mother are you?” Hey, if you’ve ever had to sit in an ER waiting room for hours only to find out a your kid is not dying it’s just gas, you’d be feeling me right now. It’s about 9:00p and we’re finally in the ER.
They run the x-ray and we find out it’s broken. Wow! Didn’t see that coming! They see two places that appear to be two simple, clean breaks tell her it’s going to be 4 weeks in a cast, and the doctor doesn’t see why she can’t continue to play. They send her home with a splint and a follow-up to get a cast.
A few days later, we are at Children’s Hospital and the doctors there are saying it’s more than just a “simple” break. On a scale of 1-3, it’s more like a 2 and they were very worried about letting her continue to play soccer even with a cast on. Basically, if she played and bumped it wrong or landed on it wrong again, she would then need surgery. Did I mention she’s left-handed? I didn’t want to take the risk. So she was declared officially out for the season. With 6 games left, that’s pretty disheartening.
Ever since she got that bright red cast, she’s been declaring she’s “healed”. She even told me she was healed at the hospital. “Nothing’s wrong mom! I’m fine.” A few days after that she says, “It doesn’t even hurt any more, Mom. I think I can take this thing off early.” But I told her, “Even if it doesn’t hurt, it’s still broken. You have to leave the cast on to let it heal and heal properly.”
That’s when it hit me. How many times do we encounter something that is damaging or hurts us and we remain in denial? Or we try to find a quick fix so that we can get back to what we were doing? Or we try to minimize the severity of the situation because fixing it properly will inconvenience us? But when we don’t like things heal properly we walk around dysfunctional and broken. When we let it go for so long, we end up needing surgery than if we were to have let it heal properly in the first place.
To My Life Friends: Don’t rush. Let it heal... properly.