The last words the doctor said to Jaxon was, “No running! No jumping! No Running into things!”. In the last 48 hours my son has done all of those things, at least three times. One minute I’m trying to keep him from jumping on the trampoline. Then I’m picking him up off the floor after he rolled off the couch. Next I hear the cracking of the walls as he slams into it after rounding the corner running like a bat out of hell! And in between all that I’ve got to keep pulling the dog back from licking the cast. I…Need…A…Drink! But of course I can’t have one because before this broken arm saga began, I was put on antibiotics for a small case of pouchitis! Is this why they say you shouldn’t have children with an autoimmune disease? Not because it’s dangerous physically. No, it’s because mentally it will drain you! My nerves are bad, ya’ll! All I keep thinking is that he’s gonna make it worse before it can get better! I feel like this cast has made him feel invincible. The only time he’s down is when it starts to hurt. Then he gets a dose of his meds, the pain dulls and he’s back to being the Tazmanian devil with a Brobee green cast! Sooooo… I have how many more weeks of this?