t-shirt photo sourced from http://www.sxc.hu/photo/1185427 Text added by Lauren Hale

Our family does not believe in visiting the pediatrician once in awhile.

No, we like to clump all our visits together. When I say together, I mean one right after another. We have visited the pediatrician’s office three times in one week, one appointment per kid.

Why can’t they get sick together??

Since the beginning of February we have all had some sort of ickiness. Our youngest was diagnosed with the flu. Our daughters both had the ickiness plus an ear infection a piece.

Oh, and then there’s the broken middle finger.

Our daughters were sick together. I took them to the pediatrician. As we got out of the car, my middle daughter wrapped her hand around the middle column of the car doors. I slammed my door shut. On her fingers. She immediately began to scream. Tears flooded her face. I asked what was wrong. She couldn’t tell me. Finally she pointed to her hand. Barely sticking out were her fingertips. My heart caught in my throat as I reached in to unlock the door. I fumbled and finally pulled the button upward. Grabbing the handle, I flung the door open and freed my poor daughter’s hand.

We got inside and I asked for ice.

Keep in mind that this poor girl is ALREADY SICK. Fever, sore throat, absolutely miserable thing.

We were sent for x-ray after her appointment.

I got a call the following day telling me that her middle finger was broken. The nearest orthopedist? 30 minutes away. Our appointment was in the morning. I had to get x-rays to take with me and make it to the appointment by 10am.

The orthopedist said the finger was barely broken, just a hairline fracture. We could buddy tape it for comfort if we wanted. Taping lasted a day and a half as our four year old kept pulling it off.

This past Monday I took her back to check healing progress. She’s just fine, I’m happy to report. I know my heart will soon heal but for days I felt horrible guilt for having broken a bone in my precious daughter’s body. It’s our responsibility to keep our children safe. I failed. I beat myself up royally for a few days. My husband assured me he had even warned our daughter to keep her hands out of that space in the car prior to my accident. I’m making peace with the fact that accidents happen. Certainly doesn’t make it hurt less but it helps. She’s been a trooper through all of this – bragging that her finger doesn’t even hurt.

And no, I didn’t really get a t-shirt. But I totally should have.