Monday was a day that Tamie had to work while the rest of the country had off meaning I got to spend another day hanging out with Layla. What that means is that we slept in late, played with some toys at home, jammed on the guitar/ukulele for a while with our spiffy new guitar picks before heading out to face the day.
We headed to the park where playing ensued – Layla ended up making some friends. It was so cute – she wanted so badly to play on a kind-of hammock on the playground jungle gym but there were already kids playing so she waited patiently. One of the two kids’ dad saw Layla and pulled his kid off to let her play – I, in broken Japanese, said they should play together and he agreed until his son decided he had better things to do than play with some girl.
Not long after the boy left, several other girls climbed onto the hammock and then a couple boys too. Layla was loving it. I felt like such a mean old Dad when I smelt the package brewing in Layla’s diaper. The kids all yelled ‘bye-bye!’ as we headed to the washroom to change her diaper. By the time we got back, they’d all split back up and moved onto other things. Layla sat back down on the hammock and said she wanted someone else to sit with her… I climbed on, but she told me I was too heavy and she wanted a smaller boy. I was almost offended. 
Layla eventually moved on, ditching the hammock for the slides, and then playing catch (she can catch! who knew?). At one point we were chasing each other and I was picking her up and swinging her around… the last time I swung her by her arms under my legs, a move I’ve done many times before, and she wasn’t happy. She stood up, then looked at me… and then the tears came! Her arm dropped to her side, limp. I asked her to move her arm but she refused, sobbing. When I touched it she cried out in pain. So I did what any good parent would do — I grabbed the kid and fled the scene.
I guess now is a good time to point out that this isn’t the first time Layla’s had pain in her arm after being swung around. She usually ends up fine after a couple minutes, so it wasn’t that big of a deal… or so I thought. I carried her home and she fell asleep on the way. She slept for a couple of hours after we got back – right up until the time we ate dinner. It was after she awoke and her arm still hung limp that I started to worry… she didn’t cry at all, even when I gently poked and prodded her arm. It wasn’t until I took he shirt off to give her a bath that the waterworks started again. So, again, I did wahat any good parent would do — I put Layla to bed without a bath that night.
The next morning, Layla got up still with one gimpy arm. We figured it’d be best to take her to see a doctor and get a professional opinion of just how badly I injured the poor girl. Tamie called a couple clinics to see which we’d go to – none took reservations and the one closest opened at 9, so we headed there as quickly as we could.
When we got to the medical clinic, it looked more like a senior citizen country club or something. There were old people overflowing out of the waiting room, and most of them were chatting away with each other. I couldn’t help but think it must be their usual Monday morning gathering place – it was certainly cheaper (and probably more convenient) than going to Starbucks. We ended up getting a number and told it’d be a long wait. We went home until around 10:30 or so, heading back when we thought our number would be called.
Back in the waiting room, we sweated it out with the golden oldies for at least another hour before we were finally called in to see the doctor. I don’t know if they don’t do reservations or they were just full up for that morning… it seemed like the numbers only got called one out of every four or five callings. The rest were called by name… my thought was they were the same Monday morning crowd with their same weekly reservations at the country club.
When we went in to see the doctor, I was pleasantly surprised when he asked if I preferred Japanese or English. Surprised by the simple fact he even acknowledged me given the fact Tamie was in the room, I answered in perfect Japanese that I preferred English. I said “英語” (that means “English”, surprisingly enough ). He asked me to sit on the bed, holding Layla with her bad arm pointed out towards him. I figured he’d want to take a closer look, poke around a bit, or at least ask me what happened… instead he grabbed her arm, bent it at the elbow, and in the blink of an eye said “Okay, she’s fine. I heard it. It clicked.”
“What the… ” I sputtered.
He explained that it was quite common for young kids to dislocate their elbows or shoulders and he, being the all-knowing doctor, knew how to fix it. I asked if it was something I could do at home and he shook his head. Parents are too emotional and afraid, he explained – we’d best take Layla in to see him if it happens again. Like that’s going to happen… At the very least, if it happens again I’m going to see if I can’t reset her arm before writing off an entire morning to bake in a stinky sauna full of sick, gossiping, old people…
