In her column, Tracy shares experiences and lessons learnt as she navigates life and grows with her two boys. To share your views email Tracy on [email protected] In her column, Tracy shares experiences and lessons learnt as she navigates life and grows with her two boys. To share your views email Tracy on [email protected]
Image: File
Big Brother broke his arm when he was five years old. Here we are at a hospital appointment in his Spider-Man costume
Image: Mom
March 16th. Man! Did this weekend weaken me!
I mean, I can laugh about it now, but eish.
It was meant to be a normal weekend—one where we could kick back, relax, and take a breather from the week's birthday celebrations.
But of course, life had other plans. And just like that, we found ourselves at the radiology department once again.
Now, this wasn’t a first for us. No. This visit was actually the second time in just a few months that my son, also known as Big Brother, has broken a bone.
It all started back in October, when he was just five. His alter ego? Spider-Man. In his child-like mind, he could swing from web to web, defying gravity, as if the laws of physics didn’t apply to him.
Well, turns out those imaginary webs didn’t quite hold him as he thought they would. He fell hard onto his right arm, snapping it in the process.
At each doctor’s appointment, we had to go through the ritual of dressing him in his Spider-Man costume—even though the cast on his arm didn’t fit through the sleeve, but who am I to debate it with Spider-Man? He can do whatever a spider can…
Also my brave boy took it all in stride, pushing through the pain and bouncing back, as only a then five-year-old could.
Fast forward five months from his first accident, we are back with a broken finger
Image: Mom
Fast forward to this weekend. Big Brother, now six, was no longer Spider-Man. No, this time he was an inventor—one with questionable ideas, it seems.
According to him, he had the brilliant notion of tying his baby brother’s toy to the back door to see how fast it could come back.
Let me just clarify for those who might be ready to judge: the back door was open, it was a warm evening, and I was only a few steps away when it happened.
So, before anyone throws the “where were you? Why didn't you watch him?” comments my way, please know that I did.
But sometimes, as any parent knows, kids manage to get themselves into trouble in ways you can’t predict.
I had my moment of guilt—feeling as if I should have somehow prevented it. But all I could do was hold him, put his hand under a cold tap of running water, and pray for a quick fix.
Off we went to the doctor’s office, where, after a quick examination, we were told that the swelling looked like a break.
“You’ll need to head to radiology for an x-ray,” the doctor said.
As Big Brother sat there with his eyes wide, he looked up at the doctor and said, “When I was five, I had a broken arm, now I’m six.
“When I am older I am going to be a doctor like you.”
It took everything in me not to burst into laughter, even though my heart was sinking a little.
But of course, the radiology department was closed on Sunday, so we had to wait until Monday. Cue the message to my manager. The weekend was really weakening me.
Monday came, and after my editorial meeting, we made our way to the hospital. As we walked into the radiology department, the radiologist smiled at Big Brother. “Oh, you’re back,” he said. “I saw you in October.”
Big Brother grinned and replied, “Yes, I was five years old, doctor.”
“And hopefully, this is our last trip here,” I added with a chuckle, trying to keep things light.
“Don’t jinx it mommy, we’re dealing with a boy here,” Doc responds, and just like that, my mind begins to race. Oh dear. I’ve still got another son. Please, Lord, let him be the chill one!
The x-ray was taken, and we were back in the doctor’s room for confirmation. Sure enough, Big Brother’s thumb was broken.
His reaction? A mixture of happiness and disappointment. He was thrilled to be booked off from school, but the idea that he wouldn’t be able to draw or play games for the next four weeks didn’t sit well with him.
I gave him a hug, kissed his forehead, and reminded him that he was a brave little soldier—one who had already conquered a broken arm and now a broken thumb.
And through all of it, he kept his head high. That’s the kind of kid I’m raising. Full of spirit, energy, and imagination… even if it occasionally leads to broken bones.
So, here we are. Another chapter in the life of Big Brother. And I can't help but think, "Is this really it? Or are we gearing up for more 'adventures' ahead?" Only time will tell.
Weekend Argus
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