I don’t talk about Taryn much on this blog. Mostly because she’s pretty close to perfect. Also, a sensitive teenage girl. I just called her – she’s downstairs in her bedroom, I’m upstairs in the living room – to get her permission to write this post. (I tried texting, but she didn’t answer. 2012 is hard.)
It’s safe to assume the boys don’t care about me ruining their lives with this blog.
As I said, Taryn is mostly perfect, she gets it from me. Because of that I trust her to go almost anywhere with her friends. Two years ago she asked to go to a friend’s cabin for the weekend. I didn’t know the little girl or her parents well, but I knew all the other girls who were going and I know Taryn always makes good choices in friends.
Everything seemed fine. The mom texted me before they lost cell service at the cabin. She then texted again once they regained service on the way home.
However, a few days after the trip Taryn complained about her back hurting. She told me she had fallen off the back of a 4-wheeler that was towing a small trailer. There were three girls on the 4-wheeler and one in the trailer. She fell off, landed on her back, and the trailer rolled over her. One of her friends jumped off and lifted the trailer off her.
(The mom-in-charge of these girls never said one word about the incident. Two years later, I’m still angry about that.)
Eventually we took Taryn to the doctor, did x-rays, and got a physical therapy referral. There was no damage, just muscle problems. The physical therapist gave her a list of exercises to do and told her to come back if it wasn’t better. She was 13, anyone with half a brain would have known she wasn’t going to do the exercises – no matter how much we chided her.
Flash forward to now. Her back still bothers her. I told her we needed to go to our new doctor and get another physical therapy referral.
Today we went. The new doctor asked, “Hey Taryn! What are we seeing you for today?”
“I need a referral.”
“What do you need a referral for?”
“What’s wrong with your back.”
“Ok, when and where does it hurt?”
“All over. All the time.”
“Can you tell me what happened.”
“I fell, two years ago.”
Oh. My. Freaking. God. She’s the smart one. Seriously, we’re all doomed.