That's No Fair!

So, we were all at the Old Time Country Fair, doing assorted fair-type activities.

As a committed, contributing member of my community, I had just completed wowing the masses with my motocross skills watching motocross and pitying the poor mothers of those death-defying tricksters on two wheels.

Brian and Sam were in line for the annual BBQ chicken dinner, and I was in position to skillfully rip tickets and hand out dinner plates to the first one thousand lucky digestive tracts.

Brian, employing his super sleuthing skills, noticed a kerfuffle across the street in the school grounds. Selflessly abandoning his post in the chicken line, he rushed over to find our Jane with all the bounce bounced out of her.

She had jumped down from the bouncey ladder, onto the bouncey floor, landing on the side of her right foot. She heard them make unnatural sounds.


Fortunately, the motocross event was very nearly ramping over the giant chicken barbeque pits, so mama and papa had been easy for her friends to locate. Meanwhile, some very lovely EMS persons showed up in gators, armed to the teeth with splints and soothing voices. The guy who owns the Evil Castle of Bounce backed his half tonne truck up behind us and we pitched Jane right up on the back of that handy stretcher on wheels.

Brian was meanwhile greasing the sides of the van with hog fat, trying to wiggle it out of the garage and past the caravan of friend's vehicles that always occupy our driveway on fair days. (I think we're all grateful to have missed that epic event, and I'm glad that the Inappropriate Language Police was otherwise occupied....)

And off we motored to the Emergency department.

Diagnosis? Probable fracture.

Splinted up to the knee and armed with crutches, Jane was advised to bear no weight on her right foot and come back in a week.

We made it back to Hoo-Ville in plenty of time to take in more of the festivities. Jane hobbled straight back to main street.

When I checked on her a half hour later, it was clear that the novelty of crutches had worn off within roughly 1.5 seconds. She was soon begging for a wheelchair, a cold drink, and a maid servant.

I started having dry heaves and tremors imagining six weeks of non swimming, non camping, and a fourteen year old with carpal tunnel syndrome from 42 days and nights of non-stop facebook-ing.

Jane spent a week developing crutch-type bruises, training her peers to play "Go Fetch for Jane", riding the auntie-taxi to school, and learning to sleep with an itchy ten tonne leg.

Yesterday we headed back to the x-ray department for the final sentencing.

Diagnosis?

Bad news: Broken fifth metatarsal.

Good news? This freaking brilliant medical moon boot style walking cast!

Bring on the swimming, showering, and sleeping au natural. Then when it's time to get all serious and studious, just strap the cast back on and commence with the healing process!

It looks like we're going on all the rides, after all.

Next year? Motocross.

Those guys in their fancy helmets and steel toed boots never wasted any fair time whatsoever fussing with EMS or emergency departments.

And that's just no fair.