Nick smacked a double into left field, and I was on my feet screaming. "Slide, Nick, Slide!" He slid into second base, but didn't get up. In fact, he stayed in a ball lying next to the base.
Being the sensitive mom that I am (who loves to win baseball games) I continued to scream, "Get on the base, Nick, or he's going to tag you out! GET ON THE BASE!"
Nick didn't move, and the ump shouted, "He's out!"
What a bummer!
Was Nick really hurt? I couldn't tell as he limped off the field.
Enter Daddy Coach. (Former baseball superstar, and all-around tough guy.)
"He'll be fine. Nick, you just need to walk on it. Walk up and down the side of the field and shake it out."
Nick continued to limp. He'd have to sit out the rest of the game.
The next morning, Nick was still struggling. Daddy Coach continued to insist that he'd be "fine" -- "after all, if he's going to play sports, he's going to have to toughen up!"
So I sent Nick off to school. But I had this nagging feeling in my stomach. I wonder if it's more serious than we think. But then again, he can walk on it. I'm sure it's nothing that a little ice and motrin can't cure. Right?
If I've learned anything on this journey called motherhood, it's to follow your instincts.
After another day of swelling and a trip to the ER the next evening (I took him, of course!) we learned that Nick had fractured his ankle. According to the doctors, "The worst thing he can do is walk on it!"
So much for shaking it out.
No disrespect guys, but there's a reason God created mothers!