The cast removal went remarkably well. We had prepared The Boy to expect a saw cutting off the cast and revealing an arm that might be a little gross. Still, when we were actually walking up to the doctor's office, he got quiet and teary-eyed. "Your arm's going to be a stink bomb," we said, using his new favorite phrase. He giggled.
He lay quite still while the nurse sliced off his cast. (That saw by the way is too cool. It's basically an oversized dremel tool, cuts through rock-hard cast, but doesn't hurt skin. How does it work?) He sat on my lap while they took X-rays to make sure the bone had healed. (Also cool: new bone growth. How do our bodies work?) He held his arm close to him, still protective of it, as the doctor declared it good as new.
The Boy's memory is good. As we left, he asked to go to the fountain, which is where we went after the fall in the park that put him in the cast. Our visit then was cut short.
"But I don't fall off the wall anymore," he said.
We gave him some acetaminophen for the achiness and dropped him off at school. Everyone oohed and ahhed over The Boy's reclaimed arm, which he still held away from his body awkwardly. The doctor said to keep him from climbing and rough-housing too much for the next few weeks, and I relayed that message to his teachers. By the time the husband and I walked back out to the car, The Boy was on a swing, going to and fro alone for the first time in a month. I was reminded of when the doctor told us to keep the cast dry and clean, and it ended up ketchup-stained the first night.
Oh and for the record, there was mulch in the cast.