An hour after Stella and Steve left for the rollerskating party I get a phone call:

“Um, so we just left the party. Stella fell pretty hard on her wrist. She’s being a trooper, but I’m thinking we should probably have it checked out.”

So, 4 hours in the dearth of human existence – otherwise known as the ER – and she emerges with this lovely ensemble:

We still don’t know if it is a sprain or a fracture because, well, Humboldt County healthcare just doesn’t roll that way. Rural is good when you are talking about bucolic hamlets nestled amongst the redwoods. Rural is NOT good when you are trying to locate someone who knows how to read an X-ray on a holiday weekend.

I have had to stop just short of bungee cording her to her bed to keep her from performing any of the long list of prohibited activities from her discharge orders. No playing, running, skipping, skating, jumping, walking, breathing, or looking at her. She has been a quick study on the 1-handed maneuvering of life-without-use-of-one’s-dominant-hand, and has successfully managed a shower (extra fun with the hefty bag!)

Now, to just decide if we will need to sequin and glitterize it for next weekend’s dance recital….