In this life, some people crave excitement and adventure.

Me? 

I covet boredom.

Jones for a little status quo.

Yearn for monotony.

In my life, adventure does not mean a weekend trip to the French Riviera. It does not equate to winning the lottery, or Brad Pitt showing up at my door with a dozen roses and the key to his Ferrari. In my life, excitement seems to mean stitches, barf, flooded basements, wasp stings and broken bones. Especially the latter. SO. MANY. BROKEN. BONES. We have a stockpile of discarded casts around here that even the most prolific hoarder would envy. They proudly decorate everyone’s dresser like my grandmother would have displayed her Royal Doulton collection.

It seems that a trip to the ER and walking out with a plaster accessory is a quarterly thing around here. Maybe it’s because I have so many kids. Maybe it’s because they have bones made of glass. Maybe it’s because they are all daredevils. Maybe all of the above. Who knows. All I know is that I think I have PTSD.

I am fairly close to attaining first responder level – expert in my hood. I have patched up gruesome gashes like a pro. I’ve splinted fractures with magazines and ripped up towels like I am on the set of Emergency. I can spot a concussion a mile away and I am the mean lady in the neighbourhood always yelling at kids to go home and get their bike helmets on.

I feel it’s a little odd that I know the people in the cast room on a first name basis. And that when I walk in, it is a little like old home week. “Hey! Which one is it and what did they do this time? One bone or two?”

I keep hoping for a Fast Pass and my own special chair in the waiting room. I’d even take access to the staff room Keurig. Unfortunately there is no reward program for being a frequent user of the healthcare system. You don’t get to collect points. There is no way to parlay all these injuries into a plane ticket, concierge service or even a new toaster. Lord knows, I’ve tried. 

The kids discuss the latest offering of fibreglass cast designs like they are attending New York Fashion week. “Oh – I wonder if they will have a new summer pattern?”; “I loved your tiedye cast from last year – that’s a classic”; “Maybe I’ll go with hot pink again” ;“Black is a little hot in this weather, but it is always au courant”.

Once we have gotten past the initial shock of the break, the swelling has gone down and the little faces are not so sad, I have another set of challenges. Maintaining an acceptable level of cleanliness (casts are GROSS), and keeping them off bikes, trampolines, skateboards, unicycles, bucking broncos and pretty much all the usual stuff. Stuff that rational people with a broken bone wouldn’t want to do, but – KIDS.

I can say with utter conviction that not much in life is yuckier than a sweaty cast on an active kid. It is a constant battle to stay ahead of the dirt and stench. Cast change day is pretty close to Christmas for me. We get to wash the appendage! Woohooo! Cue angels singing and release the doves!

Finally, in the spirit of complete disclosure, things are said like – “oh well, it could have been your other arm. Then you’d need help wiping your bum.” SILVER LININGS, PEOPLE. Always try and look at the bright side. We may have another broken bone in the house, but at least I’m off toilet duty!