Jack's soccer career is over. For this school year at least.
It was the second game of the season. He was goalie. He hadn't seen much action so far because the other team sucked. Really. They sucked.
Then suddenly there was a flurry of action at Jack's goal. What looked like hundreds of middle school soccer players converged in a frenzy of kicking and falling down and pushing and where-is-that-ball-because-it's-mine-mine-mine.
Ninety nine players got up and rushed in another direction but the goalie was still on the ground clutching his arm.
The referee finally noticed and called a time out then the coach came over and took Jack off the field (but not after he was forced to surrender his goalie gloves to his replacement). I'm sitting in my folding chair watching to see what will happen next. Play resumes.
Some other players start icing Jack's arm and I notice that he's obviously in pain. So I decide it's time to walk around to that side of the field (not run like a frantic mommy, but walk calmly) to see what's going on.
I ask Jack, "Are you okay?"
"No!" he winces.
This is NOT like our Mr. Stoic Butt. I think we need to go to the emergency room and say so. Coach agrees.
At the hospital the clerks in admission quickly offer ice packs and tell us that even though the "rule" is only 1 person with the patient in the ER it's okay for everyone (including Hannah who rushed over when we called her) to go back with him. The ER doc is kind and gentle and says "uh hmm" a lot. The X-ray tech is fast and says something that makes Jack laugh. Then the nurse comes in and says, "I'm just a nurse, but do y'all have an orthopedic doctor that you like 'cause I saw the X-ray and you're gonna need one."
They equip him with a temporary splint-like thing and tell us he'll be fine for tonight but get in to see the orthopedic doctor in the morning.
Yep. It's broken.