Bed Bouncing

When my parents shouted at me for bouncing on the bed when I was young, I assumed it was because they didn’t want me to damage the mattress. It’s not until Amelie began doing the same thing that I realised it wasn’t the bed they were worried about getting damaged, but me. I only know this because on Saturday Amelie jumped on our bed, landed awkwardly, and damaged her leg. She was being supervised at the time. I was holding her hands, and helping her jump. But I guess some things are meant to happen, if only to teach us all a valuable lesson.

As soon as she landed on the mattress, Amelie began to cry. She rubbed her right leg and under the weight of chest contractions informed both Carla and I that it hurt. I picked her up and walked her around the room, asking her to name the pictures on the wall, a technique that usually distracts her enough to stop the tears. It took some time but eventually it reined in the sobs and turned off the internal stop tap behind her eyes. We assumed at first that she may have dislocated something, so we checked the leg, gently pressing the ankle, shin and knee. Amelie didn’t cry or yelp. We gave Calpol and then tried to get her to stand, but she wasn’t for putting any weight on her leg. It was late, so we left it and put her to bed. I spent the night fluctuating between slumber and then jumping awake whenever I heard her from the monitor. I was curious if the pain was still present, and if so, if it was causing her distress. I had no idea, and had to wait until the morning. Amelie awoke and her first words were, “My leg hurting”. Not a good start. We tried to get her to walk again, but she was reluctant and wanted instead for Carla and I to carry her. We decided it was time to pay a visit to the doctor. Sunday meant we needed to go to a walk-in centre. Carla found one in Todmorden, about a twenty minute drive from our home. It was a new build so we assumed it would be better equipped. We arrived to find that due to NHS cut backs which came into effect on April 1st, the hours for the walk-in centre had been reduced. This meant we had to go to Rochdale, a place not as well equipped or as modern, or for that matter, desirable in any shape or form. But any reservations had to be put on hold. It was Amelie, after all.

We arrived to a waiting room at the A&E department full of sorrowful faces. We waited in the children’s area. A young baby boy, no more than 10 months, called Callum and had the most infectious smile I have seen on a baby since Amelie was born. Every time his parents lowered him to the ground, he was off crawling at breakneck speed into the corridor. There another girl, around Amelie’s age, there too. And I guess it was seeing other children, or wanting to mimic their actions, but Amelie began to take tentative steps around the room, holding onto the backs of chairs for support. We tried not to draw attention to it all, and just watched with a look of amazement, pride, and indecision to whether or not we should stay. One can never be too cautious with falls, or maybe that’s bangs to the head? Regardless, we stayed and was seen some forty five minutes later. The doctor was a wonderfully kind and sympathetic woman that maybe, if I have a criticism to give, wore too much foundation. She was used to dealing with children and had a box filled with toys and trinkets. For hurting her leg, Amelie received a ring with large ersatz crystal, a purple heart-shaped bangle and a hand mirror. The items kept her quiet through the examination, until that is she was asked to lie down. Amelie freaked out at this stage and no amount of gaudy costume Jewellery was going to shut her up. The doctor believed nothing was broken, nor were there any fractures. Most likely she had bruised her leg somehow. Amelie was asked to walk a little so the doctor could assess her gait. Carla and I held her hands and we walked up and down the corridor. I was just happy Amelie obliged the request and didn’t through a hissy-fit in the assessment cubicle. After that we were told to encourage her walking, and to provide regular doses of Calpol, and should it get worse over the next few days, to return. Obviously, away from the children in the waiting room, and the doctor, Amelie began saying her leg was hurting again and wanted us to carry her again. She did this throughout the day and it was agreed that I would spent the day off work with her, in case it had got worse over night and she wouldn’t be about to attend nursery.

The following morning Amelie complained about her leg, but did begin to take steps, some of which reminded me of the first taken by fawn or calf. We spent the day in each other’s company with little to complain about; I bathed her in the morning, watched Something Special, made her dinner, she refused it so I made something else, she slept, and then, to test the waters, I took her to nursery for the last hour to see how she handled being around the other children. It mostly a pleasant day with Amelie, save for when she woke up in a mood and didn’t want to leave the house. But then again, I’m not the most affable person when I’ve just woke up. We assume all will return back to normal, that her leg will gather strength and her walk return to normal. But I may find myself rebuking any further demands to bounce on the bed, just as my mother and father rebuked me, because it’s not that I don’t want Amelie to enjoy herself, or gain pleasure from the simplest of things, but because sometimes the pain in one person extends further into the hearts of others.