On the edge of our property is a big, beautiful, ancient tree. Such a tree is rather rare in these parts. I don't know how it escaped all these decades without becoming firewood or building timber, but by now it is something of a landmark. The village elders like to hold their meetings in the shade of its ample branches. It is also the kind of tree which just cries out for children to come play in its living arms. The huge trunk is made easily accessible by the termite hill at its base, and its great, fat branches stretch nearly parallel to the ground. Having climbed many-a-tree in my younger days, I've often wished I were still small enough to shimmie around in the canopy with the kids. Although we often warned the kids not to climb on the tree, it was a sort of half hearted and insincere warning, as if we all knew that the tree was irresistable. But still, we had to be responsible adult fun-spoilers. As an experienced tree-climber, I also recognized that this was not a tree which was easy to fall out of. It would take some seriously stupid and reckless horseplay... but of course, thats what children do best. Especially boys.
I have still yet to hear exactly HOW my 9 year old son Alex came to fall out of the tree. All the boys will tell me is that they were "playing a game" and Alex "lost his balance." The vagueness of their explaination assures me that they know very well that what they were doing was potentially dangerous, and that Mama would not approve. However it came to be, it gave me quite a scare when my older son came running and panting to announce that "Alex fell out of the tree, and he's hurt bad!" Every mother knows how your heart stops at such an abrupt announcement!
I ran immediately out to the tree and found Alex laying in the grass crying. I felt immediate relief that at least he WAS crying. Mothers can also understand that there are two kinds of crying. There is the real, sincere I'm hurt badly! cry. And then there is the for-show, all noise and no substance cry. In this case, it was the latter, but I still took great care to check over his head and neck and spine and every limb of his body for broken bones. In fact, everything considered, he was remarkably unharmed, with only a scratched shin to show as visible proof of his fall. He did, however complain of a sore wrist and a sore hip.
The problem with Alex is that it is often very difficult to tell when he is really injured, as his reactions are rarely appropriate to the severity of his condition. He can be hurt badly, and not even whimper, or he can stub a toe and convince you that he is in immediate need of a double amputation. He loves attention, and he's forever in search of a way to shirk his chores. So, I wasn't sure what to do when, upon walking, he began to fret that his hip was "paining" and he refused to walk. There was once a client of mine who fell and broke her hip, and she had absolutely no pain until she tried to walk on the affected leg. I began to worry that maybe Alex had broken his hip, despite the fact that he had full range of motion when not attempting to walk. My husband was not home, and I wasn't able to reach him on his cell phone, so we decided to sit and wait until I could consult him.
Dale, my 11 year old son, loves his brother very much, and immediately became Alex's "right hand man", offering to carry him out to the bathroom, and fetching him his every whim. Alex enjoyed this entirely too much. When he saw that I had a piece of candy in my pocket, Alex immediately requested the candy. I said jokingly, "But you're hurt, you can't eat candy." To which he replied, in all seriousness, "My stomach is not hurt." He played a very spirited game of monopoly, and forgot all about his injuries, until he again tried to stand and walk.
When my husband arrived home, we agreed that it was best to be safe and take him to a hospital to be checked out. Transportation is a problem, as the tuktuk is still not running properly. I have a terrible phobia of motorcycles, but in this case I had to swallow my fear for the sake of my son. I did however insist on using a safer route, rather than the one which leads directly to our home. Getting to the alternate route requires walking about 1/2 a mile, and crossing a tiny footbridge over the river. (God bless my loving husband, who carried Alex that whole distance on his back!)
The government hospital in Butere is (in my arrogant American opinion) dirty and inadequate, so we took Alex to a private hospital in Mumias which is run by the Catholic church. The doctor's initial assessment agreed with mine - he doubted there could be any fracture considering that Alex had no pain and a full range of motion (as long as he was not standing on the leg), but just to be certain, he ordered an x-ray of his hip of his wrist. Alex was quite pleased with the whole procedure, and announced to me that "next time" he would fall on a different side of his body, so he could see those bones also! (In Kenya, you get to keep your x-rays after the doctor has examined them, so Alex got lots of opportunity to study his bones.) The happy news is that all the x-rays were perfect, and the doctor concluded that the only thing preventing Alex from walking was soft-tissue pain. An hour or so later, dressed up in a sling for his wrist, and with an injection of painkillers shot in his backside, Alex was cheerfully walking on his own two feet into a restaurant for lunch. I was a little less cheerful after paying the bill, but still praising God for his divine protection. Without God, this story could have been a tragic one.
At the restaurant, Ishmael asked Alex if he would ever climb the tree again. Alex promised that he would NOT... however I have a feeling that when the bumps and bruises are all healed and forgotten, that promise will soon be drowned out by the siren's call of a living playground cloaked in lush green leaves.
