I should have been on the sidelines of the indoor soccer field last night, watching my agile, long-legged, beautiful daughter sprint across the field after the ball, doing her skip-step whenever she kicks it into high gear, weaving in and out of the opposing players with awe-inspiring skill (yes, I'm proud of her - how can you tell?), adding another goal to her growing total for the season. Oh how I would have liked to have been there.
Instead, I sat in the emergency room all evening, watching my agile, long-legged, beautiful daughter sitting in a wheelchair looking bored, disappointed, and uncomfortable.
Nikki fractured her ankle yesterday. For the next month or two, instead of sprinting across soccer fields, she’ll be limping along with crutches and a cast. It’s rather disappointing timing, with fun Christmas plans that include a trip to a waterpark, probably some bowling, a soccer tournament that she was invited to join with the developmental team, and lots of playing with visiting cousins, etc.
She’s a trooper, though, and she’s handling this all surprisingly well. She’s tough and independent. She hurt herself playing soccer in gym class at yesterday morning (“Mom, I think I heard something snap”), limped around school all day, and didn’t even call me until almost in the afternoon. Then, because it was too late for me to go get her, she managed to get herself home on the school bus.
She’s pretty determined not to ask for much help for anything either. When I dropped her off at school this morning, her teacher said “I’ll get the other kids to help her out with stuff.” And I said “good luck with that. She won’t very easily admit she needs their help.”
She was in a reasonably good mood this morning on the way to school, but I'm a little afraid that tonight, once the novelty of wearing a cast wears off, she'll be a very sad girl.