I'm not perzactly (to borrow Lis' word) sure how it all happened, but I was on the phone in the driveway with the dog on the leash (poop watch, of course). Freddy came running to tell me that Taylor was hurt. His arm was hurt. No blood. His arm was hurt and he couldn't get over a fence. Since I only outweigh Taylor by 25 pounds, I really didn't see what I could do (especially with my sprained ankle...oh, I guess I never told you that, either), I told Fred to get Nate to help him.
Pretty soon Chris rolled into the driveway and Taylor came out of the house, through the garage, holding his arm and saying he'd broken it. He wanted to go to the hospital.
I've been that route before. I wasn't going for it.
We took him in and wrapped his arm in ice, settled him on the couch, and told him to keep ice on for 20 minutes, then off for 20 minutes, and so on. Gave him Advil. The arm was perfect-looking. Some swelling but not too bad. Chris and Taylor were advocating for urgent care or hospital. I tell them we did that with Nate and all it got us was an x-ray and being sent home with an ace bandage for the night. They sent us to an orthopedist the next day. "Can't put a cast on while it's swollen anyway," they said. So I told them we'd go to the clinic in the morning. For now, chill.
Chris, Tambri and I hung out for the evening. Talking and laughing. Torturing the dog. Letting Nate entertain Chris' daughter Sammy.
So now it's Wednesday. Taylor has a fractured radius, my ankle is swollen to softball size, the car is back home after shelling out $233 for a transmission solenoid pack (whatever that is), and Chris just left after spending another evening here. This time she made homemade noodles and three pies. Tomorrow, T-day.
Here's me signing the cast:
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