So, when Middle Son came flying down the hill on his scooter, hit a large rock, went sailing through the air and landed unceremoniously on his wrist, it was hard for me not to feel just slightly giddy.
No, no, no, it's not what you think!! Definitely not giddy for the fall or the pain. But giddy at the anticipation of waiting.
You see, the way I see it, that's 30 minutes in the waiting room, 30 minutes in the exam room, and another 30 minutes waiting for the doctor to read the films.
Which adds up to a full 1 1/2 hours of total guilt-free stitching away. No distractions. No being pulled away to plunge a toilet or settle a Lego dispute or make the dog get off the couch.
And this is exactly why I marched into the orthopedist's office with a smile on my face and my dorky little embroidery box under my arm.
As we embarked on the first half hour of waiting, I finished up this wonderful little stripe-y line, all fat with satin stitches.
People in the waiting room peered as only the terminally bored can in a waiting room.
Right on schedule, at almost the 1/2 hour mark, we were ushered back to radiology. I started in on a delicious satin stitch swirl, punctuated with French knots. Middle Son was beginning to get fidgety.
As we hit the 1 hour mark, I was full into the French knots. Middle Son's legs began to bounce up and down and his arms began to twitch. This is a child who lives in motion.
At 1 1/2 hours, I made the last snip of the floss and transitioned to a pretty little scattering of fabric flowers. These came from some left over fabric, I backstitched around the flowers and then snipped away the extra fabric.
And now a doctor appeared. She prodded, she poked, she touched, she twisted. She said she was the intern. The doctor would be in shortly.
This little sprinkle of flowers makes me smile!
Middle Son began pacing. He complained that the room was driving him crazy. I saw the look of a caged animal in his eyes. I began a small lecture about the importance of bringing something to do with you when you know you have to wait.
And I continued stitching.
The intern popped in again. She said she had thought of some more questions. Hmmmm. Clearly there was something amiss. We discussed past injuries . . . past sports involvement . . . past girlfriends . . . past homework. How much more could we discuss? How much more could she stall?
My neck was starting to cramp, but I started on a lovely full rose made of mounds of French knots. If one French knot is to sigh for, a whole pile of them is positively to swoon for!
At a full 2 hours, even I had to admit that stitching has its limits. Middle Son was now draped across the doctors rolling chair, zooming himself across the room and around the tight corners. I tucked away the embroidery, slowly rotated my neck and tried to refocus my eyes.
Mercifully, the doctor entered. It was a sprain. Nothing even showed up on the films. Here's a wrist brace. So good to have you here. Enjoy your evening.
Middle Son sprang for the door, gulping in the cool air of freedom. And I smugly tucked my embroidery box under my arm.
I had just spent 2 1/2 hours at the doctor's office, and for once I didn't feel like I'd been robbed of my time.
And, so, when Youngest Son's orthodontic appliance snapped off his tooth the next day and we headed out for an emergency appointment, I was smiling . . . and my embroidery box was under my arm.