The Pain of Disney

"Wait, Dad!"

I was only half a step ahead, but I slowed and took my son's hand as we rounded Grizzly Rapids and headed for Mulholland Madness.

"What's wrong, bud?" I asked as I slowed further, noticing a slight limp in his 7 year-old stride.

"My feet hurt," he said.

No wonder, I thought to myself. It was the third day of our four-day trip to Disneyland, and we had been going strong all three days. We were at the park gates at the opening of the day to hear the bells ring and the attendants would beep our tickets through with the other early risers. We hadn't taken any naps, and each night as the light faded to a darkness that sparkled with the lights of Disney, my wife would take our other two sons back to the hotel and Collin and I stayed until they wouldn't let us on any more rides.

It was my favorite time. I felt like a dad. Not just any dad, mind you, but an awesome dad. We hustled all day to get fastpasses and hit all of the rides, and now in the cool night air I had tickets to get into any ride without waiting, and it was time to hand everything over to Collin and do anything he wanted. At first he wanted to do the big rides. We rode Space Mountain over and over until we knew every twist and turn in its dark downward spirals. Then it was Big Thunder and the Matterhorn. We got our fill of California Screamin' and it was into the second night before he stopped asking for coasters and we tried the Haunted Mansion, followed up by Pirates of the Carribean. That long boat ride almost had us asleep that night as we trudged back to the hotel, but it was the best feeling ever. Everything he wanted, I could give him, and I felt no guilt doing it. It was what we were there for.

Now here we were, our third evening, and Mom had just left with the worn-out little brothers. The world was ours once again and it wasn't even dark yet, but his feet hurt. It was OK. The time was now his. I sat him on a nearby bench and pulled his rubber sandals off.

"Do you have a rock in your shoe?" I asked.

"No, they just hurt right here." He pointed toward the bottom of his foot.

"Do you have a splinter or blister or something?" I searched the sole of his foot, and found nothing. It was slightly red, but still free from callouses. I started to massage his foot with just my thumb, and I remembered what his feet looked like when he was born. Pink little knobs stuck on his scrawny legs.

"Ouch! That hurts."

"It shouldn't hurt; there's nothing there to hurt."

"Well it hurts anyway."

"Do you want to rest here a while?" I was beginning to be at a loss for what to do next.

"No, I want to go on a ride. Can we go to Mulholland Madness?"

I helped him up, unsure if this was the right thing to be doing. His limp was noticeably worse now. We made it to the ride and I helped him in his seat, and off we went exaggerating the tight turns by throwing our bodies into the side rails of the coaster, and reaching our hands in the air as we took that first and only deep drop. We got off and started a slow walk back through the park. He stumbled every couple of steps now, and finally we stopped and I put my hand on his head.

"Are you sure you are OK? Do you want to go to the hotel and lay down?"

He hesitated, and I knew what he was thinking. It must have been difficult for him, a boy who more or less ruled such a magical place for such a short time, to consider giving it up on account of mere physical pain. It might have been the first choice in his life where it was all up to him, and yet he knew that he had to make the wise choice in lieu of the fun choice. I think of that decision now and I feel like at that moment I learned something about my son; I learned what kind of person he could be, if I but did my job as a parent, a teacher, and a provider for him.

"I want to go lay down." It was a statement, and I knew that he was committed. We started a slow stroll, hand-in-hand toward the turnstiles, the smells of corn dogs and french fries mixing with the rhythm of the beach music. His steps started to falter and I picked him up and carried him piggy-back past the brightly lit shops and under the Golden Gate Bridge. The Monorail whooshed past, a near silent force punctuated by the tired little faces still pressed to the glass to get one last glimpse of the magic.

The next morning we roused the troops early, hoping to make the most of our last day by visiting all of our favorite rides one more time. Collin didn't want to budge. We dressed him and pushed him out the door with the other boys, but we didn't get to the parking lot before his feet began to hurt again. We got him a stroller at the park and he curled his skinny limbs into the stroller and immediately fell asleep, oblivious to what was around him. He didn't ride a single ride that day and only woke for meals. His mom pronounced early in the day that he had a fever and treated him with Tylenol as he fell asleep yet again.

It ended up taking the whole trip home for him to start to perk up, and yet he never cried or complained, just like he never complained as we played in the park. He knew what had happened and I was proud of the decision he made on his to stop when he needed to stop. Even more, I felt that he had had the trip he wanted and there was no reason to feel bad about that.

Now, I know what you are thinking. I can't even begin to guess at how many times I heard the words, "Well I hope you are proud of yourself. Look what you did to him. You ran him ragged! What kind of a father are you?"

You may not agree with the approach, but even today Collin and I talk about staying late in the park, and I am thankful for all the memories we have, even the painful ones.

It Seems That This Wednesday is Really A Monday in Disguise

Never should a parent have to hear their child scream in agony. Well, at least not for more than 10 minutes. Yet, that is what happened to me today. There will be no cheerful, upbeat posting from me today. No, instead I am going to tell you about my dreadful morning and how it has once again left me in sorrow and confusion. If you were hoping to hear about my last trip to Disneyland, or perhaps my upcoming trip to Disneyland, sorry. Perhaps you should check back tomorrow.

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Nothing good comes from getting up before 8 AM. In fact you can safely take it further and say that only bad things come from getting up before 7 AM. That is, in fact what I did today, and judging from my results, I should have just stayed in bed.

"Wake up, we're late!"

I heard Heather's voice but didn't register exactly what she was saying. It was her quick exit from the far side of the bed that gave me just enough consciousness to look at the clock, which read 6:18 and then I remembered.

"What time is Logan's swim thing?"

"I don't know, but he was supposed to be there at 6 AM to warm up."

She was already dressed, and just looking for footwear, but I laid there for just a minute, testing my resolve to see Logan's final swim meet of the year: the County wide meet. It was only for Logan this time, since Collin's times qualified him for a more competitive meet, and it was 30 minutes away. I was guessing that it was supposed to start at 7:00, so if we all left in 5 minutes we might make it. By the time I completed this math Heather was already pushing Logan out the door. "Bring the boys when you can, and see what you can come up with for breakfast on the way," was all I heard before the door slammed shut behind her.

Collin and Trenton stumbled into my room, bleary eyes looking for Mom. "She's gone boys. We need to hurry or else we will miss Logan's race." The next 10 minutes were crazy as three half-asleep individuals attempted to reach a common goal. Finally, we all stood in front of the house, dressed and with a grocery bag of bottled water and granola bars for breakfast. That is when I saw my truck, the back filled with tools and odds and ends. It had to be emptied.

"Collin, you need to help me empty my truck."

"Ok, Dad."

I backed it as close to the garage as I could and after another 5 minutes of unloading we had the truck bed cleaned out. Trenton was making faces at the kittens who were hiding under the truck staring at his tortured expressions. It seems that we were finally ready to go. I went to close the garage door, but with no luck, as my bumper hung in the path of the garage door. If only it were 1 foot further into the driveway the door would close and we would be off. One of these days I'm gonna get a door opener for me too, I thought. I got into the S-10, released the parking break and depressed the clutch, allowing the slope of the driveway to give my that extra 12 inches of clearance I needed. That is when I heard it. Collin was screaming.

I slammed the parking break into place and jumped out the truck. Had I ever foreseen this as a possibility in my lifetime, it would probably be among my worst nightmares. He was stuck to the ground, his right arm completely covered by the back tire of my truck. And he was screaming. I jumped back in the truck and cranked up the engine. That is when the predicament hit me. I was sloping down the driveway with my son under the wheel. I had to put it in reverse without slipping so much as an inch forward. I hesitated only a second, then popped the break, put it in reverse and reved up the engine. I eased off the clutch, maybe a little too much. There was a screech as my tires sought traction, and then it leapt back and Collin was on his feet again still screaming.

His arm hung at his side, and there were tire marks up the forearm like some strange human cartoon character. His face was scratched and there was black dirt all over his face, with a few small dots of blood appearing here and there. Trenton, having just turned 4, was starting to get hysterical as well with his brother screaming at the top of his lungs, and I knew that this was one of those times for action.

"Collin, I need you to get in the truck right now. I am going to take you to the hospital." I put my hand on his back and gently pushed him to the truck.

"Trenton, look at me. We will be OK. Collin will be OK too. Get in the truck." I put the truck in gear and rolled out of the driveway at the same time I flipped open my phone to call Heather.

As I said, I don't believe that parents should have to endure hearing their child scream in agony, but that is just a wishful statement, not based on the human experience in any way. The truth is that most parent WILL hear their child in the midst of real pain, and it is probably even arguable as to whether or not that is desirable for parents to understand the emotions of parenting at that level. However, all of that being said, I maintain that 10 minutes should be the limit for enduring that heart rending sound.

I sped towards the hospital, going well over the speed limit, allowing my adrenaline to act as some sort of performance enhancer (at least that was the rationale I have thought up after the fact. Thanks Harry Osborne.)

"My arm! I can't move my arm!"

In truth I don't think I was all there, and there was nothing that was going to slow me down from reaching a place that could help my son. As we left the house I had said a prayer for the boys, asking for safety in our travel and for comfort for Collin.

"Owww! My shoulder! Please don't hit the bumps!

Twice more during that journey did Collin ask for a prayer in between screams and sobs as I wove in and out of the early morning traffic. We were still about 5 blocks away when I hit the 10th minute. Of course, I was not timing it so much as I could measure it by my emotional state.

"Dad! Help me! It hurts!"

I started to go to pieces, tears leaking out here and there, and as I pulled up to the hospital I was feeling the weight building up inside. It was some kind of awful brew of Worry, Fear, Pain all stirred together and seasoned heavily with Guilt. And we all know that a little Guilt can go a long way. Luckily, my brother-in-law Dave had made it to the hospital ahead of my, having heard about the accident from Heather. I pulled up and went to get Collin out, and found that his limp arm was facing me. Somehow all ability to reason had drained out of me and I just crouched there patting Collin's hand while Dave ran inside and returned with a nurses.

She sized up the situation and moved to grab him out of the truck. He screamed as she squeezed his broken limb into her body. I couldn't seem to find the words I wanted to convey to her that she was an idiot.

"That is his broken arm!"

I put my hands under him supporting his weight but holding him away from me. In the defense of that poor nurse, I suppose that this looked like I was offering him to her again or something, but I was ready to take him anywhere she wanted in that exact pose. Instead she took it as an opportunity to reposition, and she pulled him back in. I was in the act of telling her that she was still an idiot when I heard it. It was a sound that I have read about in many books, usually where a character is leaving their last scene in a grisly way. It is the thick, grating, crunching sound of broken bones. An audible and unmistakable statement that things are not OK and that where one thing should exist straight and solid, there are now two or more things with ends that are vying for space. It left me speechless and I just stared after her and she hurried him into the hospital. Dave appeared at my side and gave me a hug. The weight I was feeling inside finally boiled over and I started to cry. He gave me a squeeze.

"Take Trenton. I'll go park your truck."

I sat down on a bench in the Loading Zone, holding Trenton on my lap. I just sobbed, letting out whatever was inside. I held Trenton close to me, his small face full of concern, but without tears. I hugged him tightly and cleared my mind, letting it all leak out then and there. Thoughts flowed out one droplet at a time. I almost killed my son. I hurt my son. Is he going to be all right? What if his arm is never the same? What if Collin never forgives me? What if Heather never forgives me? How am I going to explain this? What was I thinking? Why didn't I stop the idiot nurse?

After a while the flow ebbed, as it always does, and I felt empty. That is when I noticed two nurses standing outside the door looking around for the gray S-10.

"I'm his father," I said, and I followed them inside.

I don't care much for hospitals, especially Emergency Rooms. I know the valuable function they serve having visited them over 20 times in the last few years, but there is still the feeling of frustration in the air every time you walk into one, and this visit was no different. During every other visit I had imagined that the answer to that frustration was to be taken directly into a room and given the full attention of all of the staff present, but that is what happened this time, yet it didn't eliminate the frustration like I thought it would. I think it is the lack of clear, definitive answers that infects every room and mind in the whole building, and that is one infection that isn't cured by that foul smelling chemical they use to clean every surface.

We were served by a nice doctor, and the staff was helpful. They had the X-rays done almost immediately, and everyone was nice to the boys. However, we left with no cast, no surgery, little peace of mind. His arm had broken in only one place under his bicep. It broke clean through the bone, and they said that it didn't need to be set, as it would heal itself in time. The weight of the arm is enough to keep it in place. I'm not saying I don't trust their knowledge or experience, it is simply that the result of going to the emergency room was an ace bandage, one splint, and one very big bill.

So that is where it stands. Collin is sleeping fitfully behind me right now, his arm loose in the sling as he sleeps. There were no other broken bones other than the the one in the right arm. My family was very blessed today to escape such a scary accident with one broken arm, and the whole experience has taught us all valuable lessons. Collin agreed to not try to reach for kittens under the car when someone was in the driver's seat, which is what he was doing when the accident happened. I decided to always turn on the engine as opposed to let the truck roll silently. Logan decided that today was his day to be a backstroker and took first place at the county meet. OK, that one wasn't really related, but I wanted to work it in somewhere.

I am thankful to my Father in Heaven for all of the blessings we received today, and I am thankful for family members who were right there by my side, both in person and in spirit.

That is all of the story for today. You have to admit, even though today is Wednesday, if today auditioned for a part as a Monday, I think it would get the job hands down.