It was a Wednesday in April. I left the Manoa library to pick up Lucy from school and we met Charlie at the Farmer’s Market at the Neil Blaisdell Center. I remember poking around, looking for something unique to try— Lucy had already bought herself a lemonade. We got home, excited with our produce purchases (we felt like rich bastards with our bounty), about to settle in and start dinner, when my cell phone rang. It was a trainer from Roosevelt’s track team. Noah, they said, broke his arm.
Like the wind, the three of us flew to the car. Having just arrived home, we were still dressed and ready to go. My first thought was that Noah was going to miss his chance this year at states, something he’s been training for for a long time. At that time, I didn’t know how bad it was.
We live just a minute’s drive away from the school. In the waning sunlight, Noah was brought to our car in a cart, his arm in a sling with an ice pack on top. Getting him out of the cart and into the front seat of the car was a challenge because the slightest move gave him intense pain. The trainers and coaches all looked so somber, but left Noah with jokes and encouragement.
I drove very carefully but swiftly to Tripler Army Medical Center while Noah told us his story. He'd been practicing hurdles when he fell and his arm crumpled. It was immediately obvious that his arm was broken. I dropped Noah and Charlie off at the door to the emergency room while Lucy and I parked. By the time we joined the boys in the waiting room, the nurse was ready to see Noah. She was kind and efficient. She didn’t coddle, but she made sure Noah was taken care of and helped make him physically comfortable. I got my first glimpse of his injury while in that waiting room. The bones had not broken the skin, but there was a bulge in the skin that was frightening to see. It amazed me that Noah could function at all.
While we waited to be seen by a doctor, I went outside to call my family. It was already dark. As soon as the doors closed behind me, I heaved and wept. It seemed such a ridiculous, self-indulgent thing to do. I was not in pain, Noah was. His life was just getting complicated, not mine. But my heart hurt for him. I know it wasn’t my fault and there was nothing I could have done except lock him in a bubble, but I wished I could have protected him. My boy. My baby. My first born. For a long time, it was me and him.
After talking with family briefly, I went back inside and we were seen to by many fabulous nurses and doctors. Noah obviously broke his arm, but he needed to get x-rays. He wanted me in the room with him, so I went and lent him as much courage and strength as I could, though he seemed to have more than enough within himself. Every time he gasped or cried out, I wanted to scream at the people in the room. But they were kind, too, if young and inexperienced. Noah was also thirsty, dying for just one drink of water, but it wasn’t allowed until later.
Almost immediately following the x-rays, we were able to wait in his own room in pediatrics. Charlie and Lucy had been separated from us, waiting in the waiting room for hours. We were all welcomed into pediatrics. The soft light of the room, the welcoming nursing staff, the tv and comfortable chair helped us draw strength together as a family. We waited for about an hour and then Noah went into surgery.
The x-rays showed that Noah had broken both bones in his left forearm. The bulge I’d noticed on his arm was not the bones jutting up against his skin as I had imagined, but rather appeared to be a sagging of his skin since the bones weren’t keeping it up properly. Like a tent with broken poles. They were going to repair his bones with plates, which in the post-op x-rays appeared to me like caterpillars on his bones.
We went home while he was in surgery. It was after midnight and he would be done in a few hours. I slept briefly, then went back to the hospital to join Noah when he got back to his room. He in his bed and I in the pull out chair slept fitfully in batches of hours. Two hours here, wake up, one hour there. He was finally allowed something to drink and eat, but when that time came, he was feeling too sick to do so. I have it on video. My son, the voracious eater, too out of it to eat food that was laid out in front of him. I thought it was hilarious.
Noah got discharged later that afternoon. He was beyond stoked to get out of the hospital, reminding the nurses to give his antibiotics on time so he could leave on time. Before we left, the nurses helped Noah bathe himself. The things we take for granted! But he felt so much better after that first awkward bath, and I’m thankful that those wonderful ladies were there to give him assistance. It was easier for him to get their help than from his mom.
We were both happy to be home again, but having a broken arm in a bulky splint made life challenging. The love seat in the living room became his bed because it provided support for his arm and head. Charlie and I took turns sleeping on the couch to help Noah get up to use the bathroom and to get him settled again when he was done. We were trying to help him get up and about again, but even short road trips fatigued and nauseated him. Bathing was the biggest trial. It took us a few days to finally get a routine down and acquire accessories that helped him get as clean as possible. He couldn’t get in the shower and we don’t have a tub, but I bundled up his arm in a garbage bag and then he gave himself a sponge bath.
When Noah went back to school the Monday after falling, he had to bring with him a pillow to help him support his arm when sitting. The constant weight of his arm in a sling made his neck hurt and gave him headaches, which also made him nauseous. He couldn’t walk to school because it often rains here in the morning, and the arm couldn’t get wet, so I drove both the kids to school and often picked them up after. I had to get special permission from the high school to be able to drop off my son on school property, which was imperative on days that it was rainy. Some of his teachers seemed oblivious to the physical and mental challenges of such a serious injury, and I had to call the Vice Principal to get it sorted out. I guess unless you’ve experienced something like this, you don’t realize how much an injury can change your life. I was going through it second-hand, and my life was super complicated. I was working and going to school, which was already trying enough. But now I also had to spend a half hour helping Noah bathe. I had to wake up a half hour earlier every day to help him get dressed for school (because he couldn’t put a shirt on alone and for a few days before I wised up and bought him slip-on shoes, I had to tie his shoe laces every morning). It was difficult for all of in those first couple weeks.
Noah experienced some mood shifts, for sure. He grew irritable quickly and sometimes he was demanding. I know he was frustrated that he would want so many things and be unable to do them himself. I know he wasn’t happy to rely on others to help him, and I know he wasn’t happy to miss out on stuff at school because of his injury. But lots of people were super supportive of Noah. People bought him snacks, came to see him. People wanted to hear Noah’s story. My boy was back to himself in no time.
At this point in time, he finished the prescribed occupational therapy, and the doctors were impressed with how much progress he made in such a short time. Noah dutifully massages his scars like he was instructed and performed his exercises to regain motion. It helped that the doctors encouraged him to play video games as part of his recovery. Noah had been cleared to run again a couple weeks ago, but cannot return to all regular activity for another couple of weeks. His arm remains completely weak, though he’s not as helpless as he was before. At least now he can open his own bottles, though he’s not allowed to bear any weight on his arm.
I am so proud of my son. I can’t believe he’s endured this whole thing with the kind of maturity and strength that he’s displayed. Several years ago, Noah tripped over a tree root at the zoo and cut his hand deep enough to need stitches. The boy wailed during the whole thing even though it had been numbed by the doctor. Noah learned from that experience and was in better control of himself (although if he had wanted to scream and cry, that would certainly have been understandable). He was pleasant to visitors, and patient with them if they said something impolite. He wasn’t content to just sit around and make everyone do stuff for him, he got up and got active (mostly because he was motivated to run again for summer cross country training). School work was extremely challenging for him, to get caught up and to find the motivation, and he ended the school year still on the school honor roll. Though I continued to push him to excel in school, I’m also proud of him for knowing his limits and knowing when to give himself a break. It’s a great thing to achieve, but it’s also important to remember to LIVE. He is such a good kid (which makes me laugh at this very moment because it’s 11pm and I’ve just told him to go to bed. He’s ignoring me because he’s come to a particularly climactic point in his book. My good kid who ignores me so he can finish his book. My nerd!).
So, we go back to the occupational therapist next week, and then the orthopedist a couple weeks after that. Hopefully both doctors will clear him for regular activity. I know that’s Noah’s wish. He was eager to go to the gym with me right after he got his cast off, which happened NEVER before. Then he was eager to be okayed to run again. I think he surprised himself by wanting to get back to doing crossfit workouts with his family and core workouts with his cross country team. He's still considering whether or not he will continue to do hurdles next season, but we've talked about it several times. I don't want him to limit himself because of his fears and doubts, but really I just want him to be happy. Who knows? Maybe he'll go back to pole vaulting?
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