Page 40 of My Vows Are Sealed

“Okay. It’s okay,” she whispered. “You’re not in any more trouble. I’ll talk to your dad and make sure of it. Now, let me take a look at that shoulder.”

“I can’t move my arm,” I sniffled. “I need to go to the hospital, Mom.”

She took one look at my bad arm and a gasp left her lips. “Oh, sweet Jesus. Sweetheart, this is going to hurt, but I have to set your shoulder. It’s dislocated.”

A sob tore out of my throat in anticipation of the pain, but I knew I didn’t have a choice. It wasn’t like I could leave my shoulder out of its socket. And my mom used to be a charge nurse in the local emergency room before she had to go on disability. She knew how to set a shoulder.

She took hold of my hand, and even the light touch sent a wave of pain through me. “Okay, I’m going to do this on the count of three. One—”

Without warning, she brought my arm straight out in front of me. I screamed in pain as my shoulder loudly popped back into place. It did feel much better immediately, but it still hurt so badly that my vision was blurring.

“I’m sorry,” she said, giving me a hint of a smile. “It’s worse if you know exactly when it’s coming and tense up. Old nurse’s trick. Let me help you get into your room and out of this dress, and then I’m going to go get you a sling I have in the linen closet.”

Slowly, she helped me stand, and now that the pain in my shoulder wasn’t quite as intense, I realized that where I’d hit the doorknob was throbbing and it hurt to breathe. Maybe once I got out of this dress, I could see why.

“I…I puked on the floor,” I sniffled. “It hurt so bad when he yanked on my arm.”

“Shh. Don’t worry. I’ll get it cleaned up. Let’s just get you into some PJs and get that shoulder stabilized,” she murmured.

I nodded and let her lead me into my bedroom. After grabbing me a pair of pajama pants and an old t-shirt, she unzipped my dress and slid it down my body, then unfastened the strapless bra I was wearing and did the same thing.

As I glanced down at my abdomen, I could see the beginning of a huge bruise there, and it looked like it was kind of swollen too. No wonder it hurt so much. Between that and my shoulder, I barely managed to pick the shirt up off my bed and pull it over my head, and my mom had to help me get my pants on because I couldn’t bend over.

“Okay. Just sit down on the bed and keep your arm as still as you can for a few minutes. I’ll be back,” she said.

I obeyed, and she disappeared from the room. I heard some scuffling in the hallway and the door to the linen closet opening and closing, and then I heard her going into the kitchen for a minute, and then into the hall bathroom. Finally, after a few minutes, she came back into the room with a shoulder sling, an ice pack, a bottle of Tylenol, and a glass of water.

After she stabilized my shoulder and put the ice pack on it, she gave me twice the normal amount of Tylenol. But…was I wrong in thinking that there was a lot more that went into treating a dislocated shoulder than this?

“Mom, not that I’m not grateful that you helped, but I still think I need to see a doctor. Don’t I need to get scans and stuff? And get treatment?” I asked quietly.

She looked at me and gave me a heartbroken smile. “I can help with all of that. Keeping it stabilized and doing mobility exercises to get your strength back.”

“But don’t they usually do scans to make sure there’s no other damage?”

She sighed, and it sounded like she was choking down a sob. “Sweetheart, I know you might not understand, but I’m doing what’s best for you. Hospitals have to ask you questions when you’re brought in with an injury like this one, and there’s a chance that they could arrest your father for losing control this one time. We can’t risk that happening. I can’t afford to support us on just my disability check alone, not even for a little while until we could get it straightened out.”

A fresh round of tears spilled over my cheeks as I processed what she was saying to me. She was refusing to get me medical treatment because we couldn’t afford to live on our own if my father was arrested.

How was that fair? How was it okay that we were essentially stuck here and subject to his mood swings because money was a thing that we needed to survive, and he was the one who provided said money?

“I’ll make you a promise, though,” she whispered, sniffling, as she wiped a few tears from my cheeks. “If I think you’re not healing well enough, I’ll bring you to an orthopedic doctor in a few weeks. Okay?”

I nodded, because I didn’t have any other choice. It wasn’t like I could demand that she take me to a hospital right now. I was fourteen years old.

“Let me go grab you some more pillows so you can prop your arm up while you’re sleeping,” she murmured.

She disappeared again, and I heard the linen closet in the hallway open. She muttered some G-rated curses under her breath, and then I heard their bedroom door opening. My heart seized in anticipation of another confrontation with my father.

Eventually, my mom did come back into the room with four more pillows…followed by my dad. I instinctively shrank away from him, curling in on myself, despite the pain in my abdomen and my shoulder. He let out a sigh that sounded…annoyed? Was that right?

“Darla, I’ve prayed to the Lord for forgiveness for allowing Satan to poison my thoughts and make me lash out in anger. I didn’t mean to injure you so badly, but if anyone asks you about it at church tomorrow or at school, tell them that you fell out of bed and hurt your shoulder in your sleep,” he said, looking everywhere but at me.

For the millionth time tonight, my heart felt like it had been physically ripped in two. I was glad that my father had realized he went overboard tonight, and I was glad that he’d asked God for forgiveness, but why couldn’t he apologize to me too? I was the one who’d ended up having to endure the consequences of Satan poisoning his thoughts. But I wasn’t about to say that to him.

“Yes, sir,” I mumbled.

“Good,” he said, then turned and walked out of the room.

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