Softball & Jesus

If I was fearful I’d not have enough content to publish a blog, I was a fool. There’s never a dull moment. 

Today dawned and it was glorious. I spent the better part of the day cleaning out areas of our home that have seen serious neglect. 

Our oldest daughter had to work at 5. I loaded up my Jeep with a bunch of stuff to donate to the thrift store. After dropping her off at work, my mini me and I dropped the thrift items off. 

While in the dropoff line, my middle son, Silas, called to say he’d been dropped off at the softball complex. I told him we’d be there in a few minutes. 

We arrived at the fields with plenty of time to spare before the first game. I setup my lawn chair. I remember noticing the beauty of the sun. There were very few people around. The quiet was nice. It was my first true quiet all day. I planned to bask in it. 

Moments later, the quiet, was interrupted by a scream of, “Mommmm noooooooo!”. Thinking he was fooling around, I turned and looked directly into the eyes of my 14 year old. If his voice didn’t sell it, his face dang sure did.

12 feet away from me, I look from his eyes, not sure what he’s inferring. I get to his forearm and I respond, “We gotta go right now!!”

Arms aren’t supposed to bend like that. A swans neck. 

A quick pocket pat reveals I have my keys, ID and phone. 

“We have to go!”, I scream to anyone listening.

We walk about 50 feet, and I can see Silas’ upper lip is beaded with sweat, his curls are starting to dampen,  and his lips have gone white. I put his good arm around my shoulder and we forge ahead. “Breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth”, I say. He focuses on breathing. 

Another 1/8 of a mile, and he suddenly says, “mom I can’t hear anything.”

I know he’s going to go down. The question: should I set him down or risk him falling on the arm again?! 

I start to look around. There’s no one. We’re alone. Crap. We’re nearly equal in weight and he’s taller than me. I can’t do this. 

I sense movement behind us. 50 feet back are Allen and Jeff. I start to scream, “He’s going to pass out!!” They run. They get to us just in time. Jeff pats Silas’ cheeks and says “Bud, just keep breathing.”

I run ahead of them, still 150 feet from the stupid parking lot. My mother in law is parking her Jeep. She opens her window, “He broke his arm!!”, I scream. “Who?!”

“Silas”. “Get in! I’ll drive”.

Silas’ body goes limp as they run with him. He completely passes out from the pain. He comes to, as they approach the car. He gets himself into the seat, but his head lolls again. 

Awake again, he looks terrible. He’s white, pastelike. His hair is dripping sweat. I realize he might vomit. I reach back and I’m digging through her car wondering why the heck it’s so clean! Where’s the trash? Where’s the Kwik Trip plastic bag? I settled for a used paper bag, that we never did need. 

We’re about 9 minutes from the ER. Sherry makes it there in 5. 

I race in grabbing a wheelchair. Somehow he gets out of the car and into the chair. 

We come in hot, to an empty ER waiting room. There’s one older couple sitting there waiting in their matching Back to the 50’s t shirts.

The kid manning the desk is not impressed by the elephant like swelling in my sons wrist. Time has officially stopped. Silas, now shaking, sweating and crying is disintegrating in front of us. 

We wheel him to the chair closest to the triage door. He’s positioned directly across from the older couple. They notice his wrist and she says, “oh my no! You will go ahead of us. We can wait.”

In one motion, she restores my faith in humanity. She marches to the desk. She tells unimpressed kid that we will be seen ahead of them. “I don’t make those decisions”, he reasons.

But he’s on the phone, and the next name they call is Silas! 

We’re rushed back. They ask him to repeat his story 4 times. They are ruling out a trauma caused by a parent, and I know this. I can hear them whisper social services. It’s ok, because for the kids that need to be saved from abuse, I praise God they are following protocol. 

He’s given pain medication through an IV. They X-RAY. They think they can set it. However, the pain will be unbearable. They need to sedate him. They rattle a laundry list of potential complications. I sign a consent form. They begin to prep. Pretty soon the room is full of equipment and people. 

He’s crying because:  it’s Jake’s last game before college and he’ll miss it. What if his hand doesn’t work and he won’t play softball ever again? Because he’s 14, and he’s in pain and he’s terrified. In the midst of all this, he gives his height, weight, DOB and allergies without missing a beat. What?! Who is this man child in front of me? Allen can’t even buy pants without me. 

The sedation takes effect within seconds. We’re ushered into the hallway. They warned us that we’d be able to hear him yell out while they were setting his arm. While we knew he wouldn’t remember it, when we heard the sound, Sherry and I exchanged a glance. 

Minutes later, we’re brought back into the room, where he’s sleeping and casted from fingertips to above the elbow. 

He wakes up and he’s hilarious. The sedation makes him ridiculous. 

“I could eat an entire cow right now.”

“…cobra Kai…he’s awesome, so we have that in common”

This. Kid.

Vitals, juice, discharge instructions. Somehow by a magical miracle, we’re leaving the ER 2 hours after we arrived. 

Silas insists we watch game 2. We have to go back to the complex to get my car anyhow. So we may as well. He’s as diehard as they come. 

News travels fast. Most of our friends have heard he’s been injured. Most have already seen the photos. They are, shocked, however, when we walk up, Silas in a sling. 

Like any hero, he’s quickly surrounded by kids who are signing his cast. He’s disappointed that he’s not able to play with the young Sandlot crew. He quickly realizes, he can be the all time ump, which isn’t so bad after all. 

When I approached the dugout during game 2, Carter said to me, “When he came up yelling to you, I honestly thought he was pranking you with a prosthetic of some kind. Arms just don’t do that. I hope I never see anything like that again.”

Me either, bud, me either. 

Let me back up to that couple in the ER. They were Jesus in the flesh. They could’ve turned a blind eye. Cases are seen in order of severity, and maybe Silas really was next. I don’t believe that for a second. 

That woman knew he needed to be seen. She knew she could help. She gave up her place to get him in. I am full of gratitude for kind strangers in ER’s.