Name Those Bones And The Bruiser Who Owns Them

I sent a text to my family with this x-ray attached.  Asking them to name the visibly broken bones and the child whose arm this belongs. 

This is kinda like second verse same as the first. If you can remember this...it wasn't that long ago.

I'm still not exactly sure what happened.  Somehow the monkey bars during recess were involved although Harrison is quick to point out that "first graders aren't allowed on the monkey bars, so I wasn't on them....just around them."  Right. 

I'm not sure if times have changed or rather that I grew up with military health insurance, but the lengths hospitals go through to make sure children feel no pain is a stark contrast from my childhood.  I, too, broke my arm like Harrison.  I, too, needed to have my bones manipulated back into place.  I, too, received morphine and other sedatives to make sure I was comfortable. Ah, that's where our stories take a different path.  No, not even a little Tylenol did I get before my arm was extended and stretched back into place.  I was coherent and present for the shock and pain of it all.  Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the efforts to ease pain for children.  But, if the process continues to be a somewhat pleasant one filled with morphine highs and Popsicles what will be the driving force into being more careful?  My boys are crazy, do crazy things, and think nothing of physical consequences.  I never, ever wanted to break another bone after my experience.  Ask Harrison?    "Ah, it isn't so bad."  Sadly, I know this isn't our last trip to the hospital with emergencies and broken bones.  Instead of a vacation fund I need a Bruiser fund!

 I love this video of Harrison post-anesthesia.  Even drugged Harrison knows what he likes!

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