Clark's Leg

So, I'm gonna warn y'all at the beginning of this post--this is going to be a long post, but it's a story that needs sharing.  This is the story of When Clark Broke His Leg...and how it helped me to better understand how the Atonement works.

 

Last November, around 7-ish on one Sunday morning, Steve and I were trying to catch a few winks and were still in bed.  A lot of the time, the boys will wake up earlier than we will and play in their room for a while before we get up, and, to tell the truth, it's pretty typical to hear thuds and loud noises coming as they sword fight, jump off their beds, and basically roughhouse in the normal way that little boys do.

This morning, however, I heard an unusually loud thud, followed by Clark screaming.  Normally, I'd wait for him to come find me and tell me about whatever caused the screaming (usually Jack using him as a wrestling partner or punching bag), but this time, I figured I'd better get up.

I went into his room, and found him lying on the ground behind the door, crying.  I picked him up and tried to get him to stand, but he went limp.

Now, I want to point something out here: anyone who has ever dealt with a toddler has had them go limp in the middle of a tantrum (right?  Am I right?), so I honestly didn't think anything was wrong.  I took him to the bed, laid him down (he was still screaming), and I CHANGED HIS DIAPER.  This is our typical morning routine (usually without the screaming, though), and so when he continued to cry even after I had changed said diaper, that's when I realized that something might be wrong.  He started shaking, and I called Steve in to check and see if his leg was broken.

Yes.  Yes, it was. 

I immediately felt sick.  The break was obviously on his femur (not to be graphic here, but we could feel it crunch any time we moved his leg), so we called a neighbor, who helped Steve give Clark a blessing, and then my mom came and watched our kids while we took Clark to the nearest ER (about a 30 minute drive away).

We got there, and our sweet-natured Clark, even though he was hurting, would wave at the other people passing us in the waiting room and even smile at the nurses and doctors.  After a bit of waiting, they got him into a gown and on a bed (every time we moved him, he would scream some more), and then X-Rayed his femur.





 



It was a spiral fracture, and it was bad.  Steve and I were standing outside of the room, and we could see the break on the screen from where we were standing--a good 15 feet away.

They immediately gave him some morphine, which helped him to calm down, and the tech informed us that a femur break is the most painful break a person can experience--it's worse than child labor.

Folks, I have given birth to three children--two completely without medication.  I know how bad child labor hurts.  And it killed me, not only to think of the fact that my child was going through that much pain, but also to recognize that I had made it worse initially by moving his legs.  I was going through so much guilt, it was agonizing.

The doctor came and informed us that there wasn't a resident surgeon who would set such a bad break on such a little guy, so we'd have to be taken to a children's hospital in the valley--a three-hour trip away.  Steve rode in the ambulance, and I drove home to get Maggie from my mom (Mags was still a nursing baby--we knew an overnight trip away had to include her), and grab some things to stay the night.
Once I was alone in the car, the crying began.  I couldn't fathom the pain that my son was going through, and knowing that I had added to that pain, however unintentionally, was more than I could bear.  I knew that the next couple of days were going to be rough, what with staying in a hospital, endless questions from nurses, doctors, and CPS representatives, and taking care of a SPICA cast, and I also knew that if I was still this emotional and guilt-ridden, I wouldn't be able to get through it.
So, I did the only thing I could do during that 30-minute drive--I prayed.  I prayed that Heavenly Father would allow the Atonement to work in my life and give me strength to endure what was coming, prayed that I would be able to feel my Heavenly Father's forgiveness for what I had done, and I especially prayed that I would be able to forgive myself for what I had done.
The peace didn't come immediately--probably 20 minutes of the ride was spent crying and praying--but by the time I got home, I felt it.  I had known in my mind all along that I hadn't meant to cause my child pain, but now I felt it in my heart, and I could forgive myself.  I knew that my Heavenly Father had forgiven me, also, and that fact gave me the strength to go through what was next.
The next couple of days were a blur--SO much help from family and friends, adjusting to taking care of a SPICA cast, learning how to move Clark without hurting him, visits from loved ones, the pain of watching my baby on lots of really strong pain killers, lots of questions from doctors and nurses, and Steve trying to sleep in a hospital room while I took Maggie to my aunt's house (babies weren't allowed to stay overnight at this hospital).

Legally, CPS has to be informed whenever there is a spiral fracture of any kind on a child, and to be fair, most of the CPS representatives and hospital employees we talked to were kind and understanding, although one nurse and one doctor in particular made Steve and I feel like criminals--while everyone else treated us as good parents whom something rough had happened to, these people treated us as though they were just certain that Steve and I had done something to cause this.  BIG difference--one that made me feel about 2 inches tall. 
There was one point in the hospital that felt like we'd hit rock bottom--we had been at the hospital for two days, we were all exhausted, and we'd just gotten a phone call from the hospital, letting us know what our bill was (in the thousands, post insurance), and asking us how we'd like to pay that--credit or debit?
Steve's parents had come to visit, so we left Maggie and Clark in the room with them for a minute while we went to go talk about how we would work with this new financial development.  We hugged each other, cried some more, and then went back into the room to not only find two screaming children (and a couple of completely overwhelmed grandparents--poor dears), but also a CPS representative who wanted to know where Jack was staying and if she could send someone to go check up on him.
I don't know how, but we talked to the CPS lady, I calmed Maggie down while Steve distracted Clark, and then we moved on--but I do know that if it wasn't for strength coming from somewhere besides me, I would have just sat down on the floor and cried.  As it was, I wanted to.  But somehow, some way--I had just enough strength to endure.  And we did.
And you know what?  Although the next 6 weeks seemed as though they'd be interminable, they passed.

 

Clark not only learned to get around, but he even learned to pull himself up to stand and creep alongside furniture! (You can see the cast poking up above his pants in the above picture).  Kids are resilient.  And so are parents, surprisingly enough.
The CPS home visit (which legally had to be scheduled) ended up going really well.  The lady who came was very kind, said that she could tell immediately that ours was a good home where the children were well taken care of, and the case was closed within a week.  Thank goodness.

And when the time came to get the cast off (just in time for Christmas!  Yay!)--well, let's just say there was much rejoicing in the land (especially after Clark's first real bath in weeks--that kid STUNK).  Clark crawled for the first couple of days, but was walking again a full week before the doctor said he would.

Healing happens.  It takes time, and it's never easy, but it will always come, if we allow it to.