Let’s jump right in to it shall we?


It was a Sunday afternoon. Hubby was over in Cardiff at the Ireland game and myself and my aunt decided to take “the kids” to a play centre. This is something we never do and it was a total novelty for them on a Sunday. We had never been to this particular one but it sounded great. We could even get our lunch there while the kids played.


From the moment we arrived they both loved it. Sure there was the initial ten minutes of tell-talling and he-said she-said but pretty soon they had immersed themselves in to a variety of games together. It was brilliant because from our table we could see them nearly 100% of the time. They kept waving as they ran past us ready to brave the big blue slide once again. The coffee had arrived and we were loving life.
After a spot of lunch my aunt remarked that we had been there an hour and a half. Time had absolutely flown. With that my cousin pottered over to us and in a very concerned 5-year-old voice informed me that Billy had hurt himself. Billy hurts himself twenty times a day so I didn’t panic. I looked out for him and couldn’t see him and at this point she repeated “no he really did hurt himself. He’s crying”. She sounded concerned and from that point on so was I. They spend a lot of time together and I knew she was trying to tell me that this was different.


Then I started to hear his cry. He wasn’t roaring. More so quietly crying sitting on the floor and it was a little bit heart-breaking. I made my way in to “the balls” and naturally my baby voice took over. I got down on my hunkers and asked what had happened to my little “bubble bum” (don’t ask….) and asked him to “tell me all about it”. He told me that he hurt his foot jumping from a height in to the ball-pit. I asked him was he OK and he said yes. I held his hand, he stood up and he immediately didn’t like what he felt. He started chanting “my foot broken. I broke my foot” and I nearly laughed it off. I told him that he had hurt himself and I would make it all better. I asked him did he want to play for a bit longer or go home. He said go home. We began walking back to the table and he took one more step and began crying again. He demanded that I carry him and I just knew from that point that something was wrong. I told my aunt that I knew it sounded dramatic but I kind of just knew he was going to need an X-Ray. This dude is a wild child. Constantly has me in a state of near heart-attack because his natural state is to jump and dive off things. It makes people so uncomfortable and nervous when he does it in their company and to be honest it was a miracle that he had gotten to almost three and a half without an injury. But he rarely cries when he hurts himself so I just knew something was wrong.


We walked out to the car (my aunt carried Billy, at his request) and drove home. We decided to see how he was for an hour or so before making a call. When we got home he still wouldn’t really put weight on it. As time went on he figured out how to walk on the other side of his foot. He would put no weight on the area where his big toe was and was walking on the side of that foot. Then running. He had found a way and he was fine. I told myself that it must be a little sprain or something and he didn’t seem bothered by it any more. He happily played for the rest of the evening and we went to bed as normal.


The next day I said nothing and just watched him to see would he acknowledge it. He did almost immediately. I treated the morning as normal but because he was playing on the floor he wasn’t thinking about it too much. We got dressed and he seemed fine to go to school. That was until I put his shoes on. He yelped that it was “too tight on my broken foot”. I changed him in to wellies that were a good size too big and he told me that it was too sore to walk. OK, decision made. This needed to be checked out.


I made an appointment with my GP and to be honest this was moreso to avoid the €100 A&E fee. I didn’t want to pay it twice that month (a month previous to this he split his head open when he jumped in to the shower… it was horrible). Then I realized that chances were the doctor would send us to A&E and I just didn’t really know what to do. The GP appointment was not for another two hours and I didn’t want to wait around. So we drove to Our Ladies. And tried to find parking for thirty minutes. Pain. In. The. Bum. Eventually I gave up in favour of dropping the car home and getting the buggy from the shed and we would walk back down. We got home and after a lot of awkward rumaging I fished the buggy out (my poor Aunt’s shed is FULL of our stuff). I got him settled and looked at the time. 9.40 am. Sure the GP appointment was in 20 minutes. We might as well walk there and see what she says. I failed to really consider that it was a twenty minute walk in the other direction but thankfully it was a clear day so the walk was grand.
We got to the GP’s office and what is usuaully a 15-20 minute wait was 1.5 hours. I literally couldn’t believe it. At this point Billy was only short of cart-wheeling through the waiting room. He was bored and frustrated and actually weirdly hyper. I could see people looking at him strangely because one minute he would be limping and walking funnily. The next he was crawling and the next he was hopping. He was also shoe-less and only in socks as the shoes were hurting him. At one point he sat in the buggy and ate the entire lunch we had packed for school that morning.


The GP said it needed an X-Ray and referred us. She told us to go straight to that department and not via A&E. We walked there and I couldn’t believe how quickly we were called to X-Ray. I’ll be honest – the X-Ray lady (radiographer?) wasn’t the peachiest of ladies. My mother always tells me that not everyone in the world is as friendly as me but she was in a bit of a mood it seemed. She did the X-Ray and informed me that the results would be with my GP in 3-5 days. Sorry, come again? My child won’t put his shoes on or go to school…. When I put this to her and aired my confusion she reluctantly said “OK, I’ll ask someone to have a quick look at it” and then reappeared 30 seconds later informing me that it didn’t look like a break or fracture and to “try his shoes again tomorrow”. Thanks a bunch.
I left the hospital feeling really…. weird. I know I’m dramatic in general but this whole thing wasn’t me being dramatic. Quite the opposite actually. Leaving it till the next day and everything. I just felt people would think “oh typical Tracey, the worrier” and that it was just nothing.


I didn’t really know where to go from here. He wouldn’t be able to go to play-school for God knows how long and he wouldn’t wear shoes. He wouldn’t even walk properly, or at all. I got home and treated the day as normal still feeling really confused. By this stage I had told Peter and he was glad I had got it checked out and figured it must be a sprain or something.


As the day went on Billy had gotten even better at walking on the sore foot and was now practically running on the side of hit foot. It was 5pm and I was about to stick the dinner on when the phone rang. It was the radiology department from Our Ladies saying that a consultant had looked at the X Ray and felt that he could see “something” he wasn’t happy with and could we come back down. I swear, you couldn’t write this.
So off we went. Back in to the car and my aunt dropped us off at A&E who were expecting us. We met a wonderful female doctor who was brilliant with Billy. He was flying around the place and was so hyper. She had a good prod and poke of his foot and he didn’t so much as wince. She tried to get him to stand on his tippy toes and on the sore foot he couldn’t. She then felt under his big toe and he yelped and said he “no like that you do that please”. She said “yep, that’s it” and told me that it was in the area that the consultant could see something dodgy on the X Ray. He’d need a cast.



An hour later I was lifting him in to the car with a cast up to his knee. He was asleep within ten seconds of driving. It had been a long and eventful day. Ireland were just about to kick-off and my hubby was asking for an update and I just told him, although now I think I probably shouldn’t have until after the game. He maintains that he would rather know. Thank God Ireland won. It was a weird one though because he felt that he should have been here and just wanted to get home (he managed to recover with the help of buy one get one free Vodka & Red Bull that night in Cardiff, haha).


A week passed and he had gotten used to crawling and shuffling around the place. By day 8 he was actually running on the cast and my nerves were gone. It was FILTHY so when we were given an appointment to come back I was relieved that they would be giving him a fresh one or something at the very least.



We waited for a couple of hours and were finally called. The doctor showed me the X Ray and said that there was a crack of some sort in one of the bones but that it would heal naturally. He got Billy to walk a bit and observed him. He was still walking on the side of his foot but quite effectively. The doctor decided that it made sense to just let it heal naturally as it wasn’t causing him major pain or discomfort walking around.
And so we left.


So there you are – a broken foot and a cast for a week. Boys will be boys.