Blessing in Disguise.

Just when I was not sure what I was going to write about this week, Sandler took an awkward fall while trying a new trick and we ended up at the emergency room for seven hours. Unclear as to what is exactly wrong with his leg, the X-rays merited a splint, crutches, and a future appointment with an orthopedist. Receiving the news of his skating hiatus was absolutely devastating. However, his sense of humor and ability to keep an over worked ER staff laughing made the whole visit more bearable.

I do not think there is ever a good time to have to go to an emergency room, but we found out yesterday that a really bad time to visit one is on a Monday afternoon. The first stop after Sandler’s injury was the closest ER to home. There was a line out the door. Not only was it over flowing, but it had the feeling you could catch something serious just by taking a breath amongst the sick clientele. While trying to decide if we could handle the wait, he seemed to have forgotten which leg was hurting. I figured we had time to make the drive to the Children’s hospital; they would probably be more equipped to handle his complicated scenario.

I should have known that no medical institution is prepared for a Sandler scenario. Not even one that specializes in kids. We arrived. As anyone would expect, it was flooded with sick, wounded, miserable children and emotionally drained parents. That did not phase Sandler. He skipped into the over crowded room and was the happiest guy in the place. After a long wait, it was our turn to tell the front desk why we were there. He was thrilled to tell his story. Only he had forgotten why we were there. Per usual, I explained, and fortunately had a video of the fall as evidence. Him having no recollection of the incident made our story a little suspicious.

Then came the waiting game. Which he not only enjoyed, but made sure to make his rounds asking everyone what they were in for. Once again I tried to pretend I was not his mother, but in such an establishment you are obligated to claim your child. In fact, I had forgotten how tight security is under such circumstances. Though the wait was extremely long, they constantly check in and ask the child what their name is and if the person they are with is their parent. Now, most children respond accordingly or are too sick to air any sort of sarcasm. Not Sandler. He actually really enjoyed the questioning and challenged the constant security measures.

Every time they would check in he would say, “My name is ‘Curb Cowboy.’ I’m 26. No, this lady isn’t my mom. I don’t know who she is?”

Every twenty-five minutes of our seven hour event I had to prove my identity and explain he was just kidding.

The novelty of his comedy act eventually wore off. By hour six he finally hit a wall and was ready to go home. Just as I had convinced him and myself that everything was going to be fine—certain they had not found anything wrong—the doctor came out and delivered the news that there was in fact a fracture, and something concerning with his ankle (perhaps a new discovery associated with his diagnosis that may have been a blessing in disguise). There would be no skateboarding for a while. It was then that he burst into tears. I began to sob. A dad of another patient, who had gotten to know Sandler’s passion for skating, started crying.

To keep him off of his skateboard seems like complete torture. But to witness his infectious passion in a daunting waiting room of strangers was just another reminder of his purpose to inspire people. I know he will be back on that board in no time.

- Nikki