I've learned that there is nothing worse than seeing your kid crying in pain. I'm not talking about the "I wanted that cookie and you said no" type of crying. I mean the "I pulled your arm too hard and dislocated it from the elbow" hysterics. The guilt of knowing that I caused Vivi's pain has officially topped my list of life events that royally suck.
Yesterday morning, we piled into the car and headed to Vivi's pediatrician. The office was great when I called and they got us in right away. The receptionist assured me that Dr. Ray has a "great technique" for setting a dislocated forearm which was good because I was starting to feel like he was our last hope. After three tries in the emergency room, it didn't seem as easy as everyone professed it to be.
When we walked in, Vivi told Dr. Ray that she loved him and that he was gonna make her "boo boo arm all better." It was really amazing to watch him work. Vivi sat on my lap, Dr. Ray gently held her hand, and in one beautifully choreographed movement, he popped everything back into place. It was the polar opposite of the grab, yank, and lift action she endured in the ER. Even though she still wasn't using it when we left, I was confident that it had worked.
Vivi spent the rest of the morning favoring her other arm but by dinnertime she was willing to touch her nose with the injured one. By this morning, she was as good as new doing "boingas" on our bed and carrying her teddy around, sans sling.
Now, that she is healthy I can work on dealing with the trauma I have from the whole experience.