Poor, Poor Adam

On Tuesday, half way through his last rock climbing lesson, Adam called home, saying he'd injured his ankle. Grandpa went and got him, and when he got home, I decided he'd better get to the emergency room. He couldn't put any weight on it, and it looked oddly misshapen. Turns out he had bimalleolar fractures (the ends of both the tibia and fibula were broken). He got a splint put on, and on Wednesday, after the swelling goes down a bit, he'll get a cast put on.

He was oddly calm about the whole thing, joking on the way to the emergency room that he was sad to ruin the record of no broken bones in the family since Jann's broken arm 40 years ago.

He didn't even seem to be in pain, really. When I asked him if it hurt he said "yes, a little."

He's perfectly happy to be gimping along on his crutches, or hopping without them.

He doesn't ask for us to do things for him, but hops to it himself. A little odd, really. And he's totally ok with it all. He's just glad it wasn't during winter, so he couldn't go snowboarding.