by S. L. Finlay
"How did it happen?" I asked them both.
The nurse allowed my daughter to answer. My daughter had a story to tell. She really was just like her mother.
"I was doing a double back flip, it was amazing! I did so well, and then - and then - I landed. And I did something wrong and it hurt." She told me.
Her former grumpy face was replaced with an animated one as she told me about the noise of her bone breaking and how it had echoed around the room. The thought of my daughters bone breaking and the sound reverberating made me feel sick. My face gave me away as my daughter giggled at me. Her giggles at my discomfort about her being hurt were not appreciated.
She was giggling though, that was fine. I dismissed my own feelings, knowing they didn't really matter so long as my daughter was okay.
The nurse, who was obviously busy, told us both that if we needed anything, we should just talk to the nurses at the nurses station which was just outside the curtain. I nodded my acknowledgment, thanked the nurse and then she was gone.
I wanted to know why I hadn't been told, but wasn't sure if my daughter could answer that question. So I asked her another one, "honey, when you hurt yourself, who called the ambulance?"
My daughter scrunched up her face, thinking. "I don't know." She answered.
"You don't know?" I asked, "were there any grown ups around who might have called the ambulance?"
Evidently, my daughter didn't know the answer to that question either, as she scrunched up her face again, "I don't know Mommy." She told me.
I shook my head, vowing to find out tomorrow just who was responsible. I would have them for this, I told myself. It wasn't okay to not tell a parent when their child was hurt. It wasn't fair and it wasn't happening.
But in that moment, I had to be present with my daughter.
"So, what are you going to draw on your cast when you get it?" I asked her.
Smiling like her father used to, my daughter told me she would draw a dinosaur there. Their similarities would sometimes give me pause. I was so good at covering my own reactions though that my daughter never seemed to notice. Or, at least she never asked any questions.
"A dinosaur?" I asked and gave a little laugh. I was preforming for her, even as internally I had a pang of guilt that I hadn't involved her father in this. He should be here now I thought before mentally pulling myself away from that thought.
"Yes mommy!" My daughter cried, "a dinosaur!"
"Wow, will it be big and scary?" I asked.
"No, it will be a herbivore." My daughter, who knew all about the diets of pre-historic reptilian life on earth, told me.
As we chatted, I admired how clever my daughter was. She wasn't just athletic and a fantastic gymnist (when she wasn't breaking her leg) but she was also clever. Soaking up all the information from the world around her, she would go far.
I was proud of my daughter, as well as loving her like I had never loved anyone on this planet before.
I petted her hair slightly and gave her a little smile as the doctor came in to talk to her about her x-rays. He told her that she did have a broken bone and that it would take some time to heal, but that he was sure she would be up and playing in no time.
"But!" My headstrong daughter objected, "will I be able to do back flips?"
I knew what the answer would be before I heard the doctor say it, as did my daughter, but he had to say it for both our sakes anyway. The doctor adopted a pained expression as he told her, "no. You will not be able to do any back flips while you have the plaster on. You will need to wait until it is off to do them."
I looked from the doctor to my daughter and saw her eyes welling up with tears. She loved gymnastics, and it sucked having to tell her she couldn't do it, but that was part of growing up. Sometimes you broke your bone and couldn't do the thing you had been doing before.
Or, you broke your heart. I reflected to myself, unable to reconcile the feelings I had been carrying with me since my daughter was barely a fetus growing inside my body.
After I handed my daughter some tissues for her tears, the doctor kindly asked her, "do you have any other questions?"
My daughter took a good long moment to think, her expression both parts grumpy and parts pensive before she shook her head, "no. I don't have any questions." She told the doctor honestly and he excused himself.
Looking at one another for a long moment, I told my daughter, "it's not that big of a deal to break a bone."
"It's not?" She asked, sounding a little surprised.
I nodded. "It's not. Most people break their bones before they are grown ups, especially athletic people like you."
My daughter didn't say anything, only looked down at the offending leg. I answered the unasked question that sat in her expression, "it's not your fault. Sometimes these things just happen. You will not even notice what it's like to have plaster after you've had it for a week."
"But I have to have it for eight weeks!" My daughter whined.
I knew she had a lot to complain about. The pain of the injury, knowing she wouldn't be able to do her gymnastics anymore. It sucked to be her right now. And, like any parent who is keen for a quick fix to solve a problem I told her, "if you're really good when they put the plaster on, then you can have ice cream after dinner. How does that sound?"
My daughter's face lit up, "I like ice cream!" She told me. Of course she did. Who doesn't love a little treat now and then?
We laughed together for a moment before I reminded her, "but you have to be really good for the doctor. Okay?"
Nodding, my daughter agreed to be a good girl and be still for the paster to be applied. Shortly after, a young medical student was being aided in applying my daughters plaster. It was annoying that they didn't give us a fully qualified doctor who would have this over and done with quickly, but as I watched the medical student, I could see how she was adept at what she was doing. She was also great with my daughter, so I didn't say a thing. My daughter needed the TLC now after her school had dumped her here without even telling me where she was so I could come and comfort her. When the student finished applying the plaster, I was happy that my daughter had received care from her.
We had to let the plaster set for a little while then we could go home, he medical student told me. I checked my watch. We wouldn't be out of here before nine-thirty, then I would need to get home, cook dinner. But as I looked at my daughter, I thought she could use an extra treat.
"How about we go out for dinner. Get some burgers to go with that ice cream you're earning." I told my daughter.
There was only so much healthy eating you could expect from a child who had just broken their leg while practicing a healthy amount of physical activity. Plus, this child wasn't going to let me get away with not giving her exactly what she wanted.
"Yes mommy!" She cried predictably, "I want burgers before my ice cream!"
That was settled, burgers before ice cream then bed. Then I would add 'abusing whoever didn't look after my daughter properly or even tell me she was being taken to hospital with a broken leg' in my planner for tomorrow.
Tomorrow was another day though. Right now I had to focus on getting my poor sore daughter through tonight.
CHAPTER NINE
The day after my daughter broke her leg, I gave her the day off school and took the day off work. She didn't really need it, but we were both exhausted from the stress and the late night. Besides, I needed the day off to find out who had made a phone call to get the ambulance but hadn't followed that up by going with my daughter to the hospital or calling me to tell me what was going on.
As much as her little friend was a good boy for letting me know what happened, and I appreciated what he and his mother had done, it shouldn't be up to them to tell me my daughter was hurt. It was very much up to the school, who neglected their responsibilities.
That morning, I awoke and checked the time. It was six am. Getting up, I made some breakfast for myself and stewed on how angry I was for an hou
r before having a shower. When I exited the bathroom with a towel wrapped around me, my daughter was standing outside, dressed in her school uniform, swinging on crutches.
"You don't think you're going to school, do you?" I asked, some humor in my tone. My daughter would never try to get time off school like so many other children would. Even right now when she really could get away with murder with that broken leg. She wasn't one to pretend to be sick so she could stay at home and watch cartoons, let alone using a real problem like a broken leg to get time off. My daughter liked to learn, to run around and play, to spend time with her friends. She could do all these things at school, so school was a place she loved being.
"I want to go mommy." She said, her lip slightly curled in that way children do when they want you to feel sorry for them.
I did feel sorry for her, but I wasn't going to let her go to school when she didn't even know how to use her crutches properly yet.
Taking a long moment to look at her I told my daughter, "you need to relax today a little, and learn how to use those crutches. Once you are used to them, then you can go back to school."
Slinking away on her shiny new crutches with her school bag on her back, I did feel sorry for my daughter, but needed her at home for today.
I made my daughter some breakfast and set her up with some cartoons. By the time I had finished fussing over her, I realized it was time to call the school. There would be someone there.
I found the schools number in my phone and dialed it.
Picking up on the third ring, a womans voice asked, "hello, how may I help you?"
"Hi." I heard myself saying too sweetly for this type of call, I corrected my tone before going on. "I am calling about my daughter. Could I speak to the principal please?"
"May I ask who your daughter is and exactly what this is regarding?" The woman asked, her voice a little harsher than I thought it needed to be.
"My daughter is Charlotte, she was injured yesterday while doing school sports. I was not informed until another student, aged five, told me where she was when I discovered she was not on the bus. When I arrived at the hospital, I discovered no-one had gone with her to the hospital and she was there all alone. I want to know who is responsible." I said, barely keeping my cool as the fire that burned inside my belly grew.
There was silence for a few moments before the woman answered, "Thank you. Just transferring you now."
Then I had hold music for a good five minutes. While I waited on hold, with my phone to my ear, I checked on my daughter. She was entranced by the television. She so rarely sat still for long enough to watch something that this felt strange. It also made me think of how easy other parents had it, that their children could sit in front of, and stare at, a television for hours on end.
I imagined how easy it would be if I never had to read to my daughter, or listen to her read. If I never had to go outside and play with her, or take her to sporting meets, or discuss her life with her. But then I shook my head to dislodge all these thoughts. If I never had to do these things with my daughter, then I would not get all the great stuff from having a daughter: someone to love, someone to cherish and look after. I wouldn't get those joys if my daughter was a couch potato.
Just then, the hold music cut out as someone picked up the line. There was silence for a long moment before a male voice asked, "hello?" Hellos which are a question always baffle me. You know I'm here, someone has told you that I am here, and, no doubt, exactly what I want to talk to you about so you can be ready when the axe falls.
"Hello, who am I speaking to?" I asked, more appropriately than a hello question.
"You are speaking to James, the principal." The voice on the other end of the phone told me.
"Just the man I wanted to speak with." I told him, "how are you, James?"
"I am very well, thank you." He answered in a crisp, clear voice, "how may I help you today, Mrs-?"
"It's Ms, thank you." I told the man. As much as it frustrated me that everyone assumed I must be married because I had a child already, I was so used to it, that this response was reflex. Perhaps there would come a day where I wouldn't get the Mrs response, then what would I do?
I shook my head, as if to dislodge the thought of a world where people would stop assuming I was married to my baby daddy and asked, "how much have you heard from your staff already?"
This question appeared to take the man off guard as he took a moment to respond before telling me, "I have heard that you are unhappy, because you were not informed that your daughter was hurt and that you are also unhappy that when you went to the hospital, there was no-one present with your daughter. Is that correct?"
"Yes, that is correct." I answered, happy to skip to-ing and fro-ing, not wanting to get caught up in rubbish and wanting to simply get to the bottom of this and quickly as possible: who was responsible?
"Well," the principal began, "I do not know who was supposed to be responsible for your daughter at the time - the school day has just begun, you will understand - but I can investigate this for you if you would like, then come up with a resolution with what needs to be done our end to ensure it does not happen again."
"That's it?" I asked, frustrated and shocked by his answer.
"What more would you like from me?" The principal asked, if voice cordial but firm with me. I didn't like his tone, but chose to ignore it.
"I would like whoever it was to receive some punishment. A simple slap on the wrist is not enough." I told him. "My daughter was alone and scared, you had a duty of care to her and to myself that you flatly ignored. No, I want punishment."
I could hear the principal taking a deep breath in and out, as if it were me who was being frustrating and not the other way around, "I see." He said, "well, you see, our teachers and coaches are very busy people. They have twenty or sometimes thirty children to manage at once, I do not know the circumstances around what happened yesterday, but I do know our teachers are busy people. Perhaps whoever was in charge didn't go with your daughter because the other children needed them." He told me matter-of-factly, as if this was all okay.
It wasn't okay. "Are you serious?" I asked, fuming, "you are just going to brush off a hurt little girl because your staff are busy? I'm an editor at a newspaper! I am always busy! I still manage to make time to look after my little girl! That's what taking care of your responsibilities is, Mr. Principal." I told him, his title said in a way that told him how little regard I had for him, his job and his school in that moment.
There was a stunned silence. "Okay." The principal said, more sedated this time and less on his high horse, "I will look into this, then we can find a resolution together, how does that sound?"
Realizing I was perhaps only being temporarily placated, I sighed. It was the best offer I was going to get from this guy though, so I took a deep sigh and agreed, "okay." I told him. "Let's do that."
"Good." He told me before hanging up, "have a good day, I will be in touch with -"
"When?" I asked, cutting him off.
"Wh- sorry?" The principal asked.
"When will you be in touch with me?" I asked the principal. "When will I expect to hear from you?"
There was a long silence as the principal pondered my questions before he answered, "I can be in touch with you before close of business Friday." He told me.
"Good. I look forward to it. Also, I am giving my daughter the day off, because she is tired after a late night stitching her up last night. Please advise her teacher."
Silence for a moment, I imagined the principal was writing my message down. "Very well." He told me, "when will she be back?"
He was playing the 'when' game now, and realizing it, I smiled. "She will be back soon. Probably tomorrow, depending on how she is going."
"Wednesday, good." He said, and I imagining him adding to the note. "I will be in touch, take care of yourselves." The principal told me.
"We will, you too." I said before hanging up the phone, rolling my eyes, and g
oing to join my daughter to watch cartoons. For the rest of the day, I reasoned, we could spend some quality 'daughter just broke her leg' time watching cartoons, eating junk food and later practicing moving around on those crutches. Quality bonding time with the little lady in my life, wonderful.
CHAPTER TEN
My daughter and I had a wonderful day together, which was followed by my taking her back to school the following day. I sent her off with a sharpie to get some friends signatures on her cast. The moment she passed through the school gate, she had started chatting to another girl about what had happened and I walked away, back home. I still sometimes drove, but I tried to walk as much as I could.
That day, I would work from home in case my daughter needed me at the school. I had sent her with a note telling her teacher that that was the case, and I recalled her teacher wasn't one who got sent with the girls to their gymnastics practices, so I felt a sense of assuredness that she wouldn't neglect to make the phone call if my daughter needed me.
Throwing myself into work when I returned home, I was happy that I had this opportunity to do all of this work from home, and that I got Fridays off, so I would be able to see the principal and demand he discipline someone who had upset me.
I remembered back to the days when I had a Daddy Dom and how sometimes he would play other roles. The principal who disciplined you for being a bad girl was a good role that my Daddy had played expertly. Like the many times I still had to, I shook the thought from my mind. I still missed my Daddy with all of my heart, and wondered about what would have happened if he had been the parent to find our daughter was not sent back to the school on the bus. I was sad to think what my daughter was missing out on.
Then, as I did every time that I thought this way, I told myself that no, this man had cheated on me the moment he was out of the country. He had led me on to believe that things were different to how they were. He had been so keen to have me believe that he loved me, and that he really wanted to be with me, to marry me, to raise a family together.
