In any case, that wasn't even the worst part. The worst part was later, in private, away from her, where I found out that yes, her nose is now quiet flat, on account of how her face had been bashed in and all, but that we wouldn't know for another six months if it would stay that way. In fact, we can look forward to the option of taking a piece of her rib to make a nasal bridge in the future. Awesome.
So, when my very kind boss came into my office to ask how I was doing, I had the classic girl response. You know it. Do I even have to say? Complete nervous breakdown, duh. Poor guy. Bet he's gonna think twice before he does that again. The forty eight hours after receiving the "rib news" as I like to refer to it, had been hell. I mean, really? I'm gonna need to take my kid apart? How unfair is this? Then I feel guilty about feeling bad because I know it could be worse. Parents of children who have chronic or terminal disease : you are all my heroes. I do not understand where you find the inner strength to go on day after day.
I had to figure out a way to redirect my brain, which would only go to rib news. Everything took me there. Pens on my desk - long and thin like ribs. Sniffle. The copy of AAP News on my shelf "After a Concussion Students May Need Gradual Transition Back to Academics" Sniffle. Little did I know the answer was "chicken wire." It is confusing, but that is the wonder that is my brain.
One of my hobbies, which you will all have to privilege (hee hee) of reading about in late February when my children and I start our seedlings, is gardening. Everything about it is soothing. It is a source of exercise, family time, getting the kids tired, throwing out vegetable & fruit waste for compost, producing beautiful flowers & vegetables (in the pictures in the books), learning and teaching about the cycle of life, biology, and most fun for me: planning. Yup. I love the initial end of winter planning on how to improve from what has always been last year's flop. Hence the hee hee. I am an AWFUL gardener. But, I'm not a quitter - part of that doctor mentality I blogged about before.
So, I decided to spend some time thinking about my garden in an effort to relax. Are we going to til the soil like my husband wants or do things the correct way with raised garden beds which you don't have to weed (obviously - like I want)? Should we have 2 long beds or 4 short and stubby ones? What are we going to do about the damn mole that is digging up our yard and has made a sandbox out of my "winter garden?" How do I prevent him from getting my plants from the bottom, while letting my plants grow into the ground? And then, lightbulb. Chicken wire. You put chicken wire under the soil at the bottom of the raised beds!!! I am a genius! The utter joy this gave me was indescribable. I instantly sent my husband an email about it and called my cousin. She was actually working, so that was disappointing, my not enough to snuff out my new fire. I was in fact, SO excited about the damn chicken wire idea, that since then every time my mind would drift to rib news, I would remind myself about how hilarious it will be to see how confused Mr Mole will be.
Since then, my mood has seriously improved. Can you believe it? Chicken wire, people, is all it took.