Spent the morning in the hospital today. Luke got his left "long finger" stuck in his friend Brennan's flag football belt at gym two Fridays ago and it broke. I say "long finger" because that's how the medical community refers to it. It broke the middle bone and twisted the tip so that he couldn't really curl his finger in a complete grip without it overlapping the other. So they wanted to straighten it under an x-ray machine. I think back to when I was young. The doctor probably would have twisted it back and said, "There! It's straight!" These days we spend a good six hours waiting for it to be done right.
After this happened, two different people showed us their permanently twisted finger...from playing flag football...in middle school. So I guess it is a good thing.
All I know is after seeing Sean's snapped arm two years ago, a little bent middle finger is a walk in the park. And speaking of parks, Thursday he'll go to an amusement park with his class with his wrapped up hand. Then I get to worry about his ability to hold on to wild rides. Nah. I've decided not to worry. In my old age (maybe having three boys has something to do with it too) I'm learning that it does absolutely zero good.
The nurses all said that he looked like an angel while he slept during the operation. I know this. That's why I drew him sleeping years ago...he's always looked like an angel.
Oh and here's something cool. As I sat in the waiting room, I overheard a lady in a wheelchair talking to the patient-doctor go-between lady and realized that they were discussing her (the one waiting for her husband) relation to Stan the Man Musiel. Her husband was Stan the man's first cousin. I piped up: My husband is named after Stan the Man! She got a kick out of that. I texted Stan in the field and told him. His father was a big fan of Stan and the Cardinals.