Busted Bones

Annie showing how the leg got caught.

Darren here. One week and one hour ago, Annie broke her leg. She snapped her tibia and fibula on some monkey bars at a neighborhood park. She cried out. I turned and saw her caught in the bars, dangling upside down by the break. The scene was abhorrent. I pulled her out, put her in the car and rushed her to the hospital. The next 24 hours were extremely humbling and many of you helped get us through it with your prayers and compassion. I wanted to step you through the details so you could appreciate just how much we needed your support.   


The pain meds were surprisingly a long time coming in the emergency room and all that was brought initially was ibuprofen. Annie was on her back in bed and I was hunched over her trying to keep her leg steady. The leg was completely limp so without support it sagged, causing Annie more pain. We seemed to stay in that position for some time as I remember sweat dripping from my forehead onto my glasses. I also discovered that I need to work on my abs. From that posture, I dictated Annie's health information to nurses, passed on our insurance details, and gave my keys to someone who kindly reported that my car was going to be towed. When the doctors and nurses safely positioned her leg on a pillow, I moved to the head of the bed and knelt down close to Annie's face. My left arm went under her neck and she pulled me in close with her left arm so my cheek was touching hers. We stayed that way, whispering back and forth, for about a half hour. This is where I realized how much I love her and how strong she is.

The monkey bars

Eventually, they gave Annie some phentanyl, which took the edge off the pain. About 45 minutes later, they wheeled her into an operating area where they administered ketamine before setting the leg. Annie didn't feel anything (to whomever developed ketamine: I love you). The doctors applied a half plaster cast and sent her for X-rays. About an hour later, an orthopedic surgeon recommended the half plaster be removed and a full plaster be put in its place. By this time a neighbor drove Ivey and Des in. It was very distressing to witness Annie's painful vulnerability. The leg was floppy so two assistants tried to hold it in a flexed position while the doctor applied plaster. We moved to the pediatrics ward to wait as three orthopedic surgeons consulted over the second set of X-rays.

At 10pm, we learned that Annie would need surgery in the morning. Surgeons would place the Titanium Elastic Nail System (TENS Nailing) inside the bone to secure the tibia and fibula. This was discouraging but given the nature of Annie's break (clean with both bones broken in the same place on the shin), the risk was too high of the break coming out of place or healing improperly. The good news was, the phentanyl from the ER had kept the pain down as long as Annie stayed still. I went over the pain management plan for the night with the nurse when she came in to administer some oxycodone. Soon Annie was sleeping peacefully. I tried to get comfortable in an incredibly noisy vinyl chair. We were in a shared room with a little boy who was having his tongue stitched back together after a bicycle accident.

With the physical therapist 24 hours after surgery

Suddenly, things took a very bad turn for the worse. All the lights were out and the pediatrics ward was quiet. Annie, dreaming, twitched in her sleep. Being between the phentanyl and the oxycodone, she felt all the pain anew without any medication to take the edge off. Her body shook as though it had been electrocuted. I held her but the pain was beyond consolation. I called the nurse. Annie in a panic of tears said, "Dad, I broke my leg again." I asked the nurse for the more powerful phentanyl Annie had received in the ER. She said they weren't allowed to administer that in the pediatrics ward. I asked that Annie be given something more for the pain. She said she'd need to talk with the surgeon who wasn't available. I, losing all tact, instructed her to figure something out immediately. She did, and Annie's pain was, after three hours, brought under control. 

Those three hours put Annie in her extremity and, as a consequence, put me in mine. Overhearing the discussion about pain medications, Annie whispered to me, "Dad, if they give me too much medicine, could I die?" Soon afterward, she asked, "Dad, please can they give me the sleeping medicine?," referring to the ketamine given when her leg was set. She then asked if I would kneel next to her as I had done in the emergency room. She pulled my arm under her neck and pulled my cheek next to hers. There was nothing I could do but be with her in her suffering.

Leaving the hospital

She was exhausted. She'd fall asleep and wake up to a twitch. The cycle would repeat. A surgeon came in and administered a muscle relaxer. They increased the dose of oxycodone. But after a couple hours, it appeared--given that no stronger drugs could be made available to her in the pediatric ward--that Annie would suffer a great deal of pain for the next 7-10 hours prior to the surgery and get almost no sleep, which would take more of a toll on her body. We were at a very low point.

This is where compassion and prayer came in. During one of Annie's short naps, I solicited prayers on Annie's behalf via Facebook. Support began pouring in from friends and loved ones. Don't ask me how because I can't tell you, but the thoughts and words and prayers were effectual. What you did mattered. I began to feel strengthened and took courage. Annie, and this is all that was important, went to sleep and stayed asleep until morning. I felt such gratitude for friends and family and for God. And I jotted down this thought: "Every tragedy carries the threat of a second tragedy, that of suffering the tragedy alone." To all our friends, thank-you again.

Experiencing your outpouring of compassion also reminded me that others suffer much more and must endure much longer. Here our family is, a week later, and Annie is around on crutches without pain medication. She is fighting with her brothers and sisters again and milking the attention from mom and dad. I was back at work and leaving at the end of the day with my mind filled with the same old things. Annie's broken leg was little more than a blip, albeit with an intense crescendo, from which, through the incredible support of others, we are now basically recovered. To those who endure the real trials, those who wear the scars of abuse, continuous suffering, loss of children and spouses, intense loneliness, debilitating emotional and mental illness, I offer my heartfelt compassion. In my extremity, I experienced the strength we can give each other. While we can't prevent the tragedy, we can ensure no one has to endure their tragedy alone. 

Annie, back at the park one week later.