Mom had surgery today on her foot. Did I tell you she broke her foot? “Broke” is perhaps too gentle of a word… dislocation & three breaks?  Yeah, thats more like pulverized.  She now has a plate & 8-something pins holding her left ankle together (enough metal, we’re going to be transferring some of the refrigerator magnets to her ankle once she’s no longer wrapped up like a christmas present).  With surgery comes pain.  Mom’s handling it like a champ, but I’m sure she’s hurting more than she’s letting on. (She described the initial break as “not quite as bad as childbirth… but perhaps a close second”).

In the Chase house, anytime someone is sick or injured, it seems to bring us comfort to recount (and/or list) old injuries and mishaps.  Mom’s broken ankle is just one of many dire mishaps in the Chase house (although, I will admit, this may have been one of the more severe of the injuries)… then again, there was the time Dad broke Taylor’s leg while they were playing dodge ball with basketballs at camp. (Dad insisted the leg was just sprained, but x-rays almost a week later proved it was, indeed, broken). We also have Marta’s many tooth-loosing adventures (face meets brick floor at 2-years, and face meets steering wheel of go-kart at 8 when Taylor decided to let her drive.  Mom wouldn’t let her smile with her teeth showing: that’s how bad it was) and Lyndie’s severely sprained ankle twice (trampolines… enough said).  We’ve had some other breaks too: my broken collar bone (tripped on a towel, rolled down a hill, hit a tree), Lyndie’s broken arm (trying to learn how to ride a bike. She took a few weeks off after she crashed into a tree), my broken wrist (lesson learned: don’t run on icy pavement) and Corrie’s broken middle finger (Corrie had to wear a splint, and had to be MIGHTY careful to leave at least one other finger up at all times). We have stitches: Marta cut her hand while doing dishes, Carter stabbed his foot with a pitchfork, Lyndie’s face skidded against concrete, Dad was hit in the face by a tree, and I ALMOST got stitches when Johnny pushed my face into a saw (thankfully, it was not running).

Next, we could list some wisdom teeth horror stories.  Taylor’s were pulled at 14 because he had a tooth growing into his chin, Corrie’s were pulled right before new-years and her face was SO bruised and swollen at the party that I couldn’t look at her without laughing (ha ha, I still laugh when I think about it), and I wasn’t knocked out when mine were pulled (which would have been ok, if they wouldn’t have had to use the drill). Dad’s was the best: he got his teeth pulled at 40 (you were, and still are, very young, dad).  He was a very bad patient: he moaned and groaned during recovery and ate his weight in jello.  Our favorite moment was when he was asking mom for more pain meds and she responded “your medical partner told me to only let you have one an hour”.  Dad’s responded full of wrath, as he reached for the phone “Which partner?”

To finish out our list, I shall add that Corrie & Carter both stepped on rusty nails, Carter was attacked by a rooster (nearly blinded, folks), Dad blew out his knee in underwater hockey, Johnny’s perpetually messed up toenail (after it was shattered and refused to re-grow properly) and Maria’s bruised tailbone (she fell while ice-skating and had to sit on a pillow for a month).  I’ll also mention the time we picked out a $30 nausea pill out of Johnny’s puke only to have him take it again (I could write an entire blog post about our puke-misadventures… but perhaps another time), once our entire family got strep at the same time, and then later Marta had to have her appendice removed (she brought pictures to church the next week. Nasty).  Bethany and Lyndie both burned the tips of their fingers with a hot glue gun, Bethany repeatedly shocked herself while plugging things in (when Maria became concerned while watching her once, Bethany’s response was: “that’s ok, it happens all the time”.  Bethany wasn’t allowed near outlets for a while), and Colson was dropped on his head by Maria, but he turned out smart, so I guess it’s ok.

*Phew* we’ve gone through a lot of Band-Aids in this house. In spite of the many injuries our family has suffered, somehow we’ve managed to not have killed ourselves (or anybody else).  I can’t express how grateful I am for a father who is a doctor and can stitch us up… and for a mother who keeps us from getting hurt more often.  In Dad’s words: “Mom’s here to keep you alive. I’m here to keep your life interesting”.

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