None of Jack’s bones are broken.
This news is so welcome, so extremely good. I spent last night lying awake with fever and chills imagining me taking care of Jack with a cast covering two-thirds of his body. He still is walking a bit like Quasimodo, but it may be that a) Jack just walks how he walks, and b) his ankle pronation is bugging him. He sees the orthopedist next month.
I’ve turned into a loud, racking cough machine so Truman and I stayed at home today, drinking fluids and resting. A quiet day can make one realize what one has. I’m not speaking of things.
*An open window in the middle of March wafting the fresh smell of earth through the curtains.*
*Buttered toast with raspberry jam for lunch with the three-year-old.*
*An afternoon nap on a sick day.*
*A tiny colored box of Cadbury chocolate eggs.*
*The gift of knowing that the developmentally disabled ten-year-old doesn’t have any broken bones.*
*A creepy and imaginative Neil Gaiman book.*
*Listening to the Psalms while doing laundry.*