Broken Bones

The last two weeks of my life have been cuh-razy.  Two weeks ago this Thursday, I came home from a strike vote, (even though we won’t likely be striking because McGuinty has legislated that away….but I digress) to the sound of our daughter screaming.

My daughter has two kinds of screams.  One has a particular pitch and fervour that makes my mommy spidey-senses prickle.  This was one of those screams.  When I arrived in the house, my husband assured me that she had only started screaming again when she saw me pull in the driveway.  This, combined with our daughter’s insistance that her arm was fine, (“REALLY Mommy, I promise it’s FINE!!!”), led me to get some ice and let her sit and watch some t.v. with her friend who was at our house playing with her when she fell.

But my mommy senses were prickling.  I kept on going back over to her to ask her how she was.  Every time I tried to question her about her arm, she became quite upset and asked me to just leave her alone (insert more spidey-pricklies here).  She begged me not to touch it and “just let (her) calm down.”  I should mention that less than 10 months ago, she broke her right radius and had to wear a cast for six weeks.  The novelty of cast wearing has completely worn off for her.  This bears mentioning.

After about 45 minutes of sitting with the ice pack, she said in a wobbly voice, “Mommy?  Daddy?  I think my friend should go home and I am going to go upstairs and just be alone for a while to try to calm down.”  (This elevated my pricklies to full-out porcupine.)  This was the last straw.  Her little friend was brought home and our daughter was ushered into the car, complete with the sling she wore on her right arm last year.  I was convinced it was broken.

We arrived at the Emergency Department at close to 6 p.m.  We sat and waited, and waited and sat.  Six hours later, she still had not been seen.  I approached the nursing station using my very sweetest mother voice.  “I realize that you are incredibly jammed here tonight…and you are SO short staffed….but I know for sure my daughter has a broken arm….so I NEED to know when she is going to be seen….because if it isn’t really soon, I am going to take her home and come back tomorrow.  She’ll be much more comfortable in her own bed with a broken arm than sitting in a plastic chair with a broken arm all night long.”  I said it so nicely.  I was really impressed with myself.  Because inside my head the Momma Bear was going postal.  I made that bear hibernate and turned on the charm instead.  Suddenly, amazingly, we were next.

We soon learned that, not only was her arm broken, the fracture was displaced and needed to be reset.  It was so bad that when I saw the xray I said, “SHIT” (which wasn’t very mommyish, but it was now 2 a.m. and I was out of gas.)

After learning she’d need an IV to give her a “procedural anaesthetic”, I requested that she be given an EMLA patch to numb the skin on her hand.  This seemed to annoy the nurse, who was already overworked, and when she came to gave her the patch we had some very restrained words.  These ended with me looking at her over our daughter’s head and saying through gritted teeth, “I am trying to manage my daughter’s pain and I would like you to understand that I am not trying to inconvenience you.”

We brought her into the procedure room and we were immediately asked to leave.  We stood our ground that we would leave her once she was sedated.  The anaesthetist injected a syringe into the IV.  Seconds later, when one of her pupils dilated to the size of a dime, I figured we were safe to leave her, even though it ripped my heart out to go.  It was so eerie to see her staring with unblinking eyes.  My husband and I went outside the door and I sat on the floor listening to it all, with tears streaming down my face.  We were told she would feel nothing.  There is a marked difference between a child who feels nothing, and one who will remember nothing.  There is no doubt in my mind that she felt every bit of those bones being reset.   I think I did too.  She moaned and screamed every time they manipulated her arm and I felt like I would climb out of my own skin.  The formerly angry nurse brought me a box of tissues, gave me a big hug and a kiss on the cheek, which was very sweet.  All forgiven.

Just a few minutes later, it was over, and we were allowed to come back in.  Our daughter was laying on the bed with her eyes wide but obviously not seeing anything.  I began to talk to her and she suddenly puckered her lips up, under her oxygen line, asking for a kiss.  This is something she often does when she is sleeping with us, and it warmed my heart to know she was okay.

The comedy routine then began.  She told us all, one by one, that we had four eyes, two noses and two mouths and that we were silly.  Ten seconds later, and ten seconds after that, she repeated the routine.   Over and over she would look at us all and declare, “You haaaave FOUR eyeeeees!”  She then noticed the chest monitor stickers and said, “Get theeeeese silly bugs offa meeeee….”  We were all giggling…and we sure ran the gamut of emotions that night.

Broken Promises

Dalton McGuinty is a liar and a thief.  It’s a sad fact that a politician can gain the trust of Ontario teachers with the statement, “We respect the bargaining process.  We are not in the business of tearing up collective agreements,” and less than one year later, rob us of our right to bargain, impose contract terms and tear up our past contracts. Within Bill 115, McGuinty even has the audacity to legislate restrictions to legal and constitutional recourse.  He clearly considers himself above the law and that is frightening.  Ontario has become a Draconian State. 

Shame, Shame, Shame, McGuinty.  You manufactured a crisis, in order to justify imposing your mandate upon us.  We never had a chance to get to the table, but you told the public that we were at an impasse and the elementary 2012-13 school year was in jeopardy.  We were prepared to bargain in a fiscally responsible manner but you never even let us get out of the gate.

Your legislation, supported by the Tories, has had a huge impact on my family’s financial future.  In freezing our grid, cutting sick days, mandating three unpaid days per year (obviously you actually care very little about the importance of Professional Development), and “vesting” the sick leave I have accumulated at current income value, you have brought white collar crime to a whole new level.  In good faith I bargained with our Board, and they bargained with me.  We signed a contract and I fulfilled my part of the bargain.  How can you, in any modicum of decency, retroactively alter the compensation terms of a contract?

See you at the polls.

Oh…and in the courthouse…now there’s a true waste of taxpayers’ money.

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