Lo fell off a trampoline on Saturday and landed on her left arm. She was spending the night with Mamoo, of course, in the Land of Dog Bites and Broken Bones (Sorry, Mamoo, I just liked the phrase).
She was a little sad and quiet when she came home yesterday and woke in the middle of the night hurting, so we got an appointment with an orthopedic doctor this afternoon. When we arrived at 1:00, the waiting room was full of geriatrics, a couple of them on oxygen, several with walkers or wheel chairs. The only magazines to be found were AARP and Golf Digest. Lola took one look around and asked, "Are you sure we're in the right place? These are all old people." Two hours into our wait for x-rays, we'd pretty much decided they'd all been young when they came in. But before anyone actually expired before our very eyes, we were finally called back.
Turned out she has a fracture, which means no softball this season and no bike, scooters, running, climbing etc. for six weeks. The doc told her it was safe to do her homework, though.
Oh, and she can't pick up anything heavier than Racky (pictured above), so Jack will have to be her personal slave.