Pam got mad at me and shoved me into a culvert.
Ever see the movie Misery? Pam saw me talking to a girl at BackStreets and decided to hobble me in my sleep.
Six guys, human traffickers, I think, were trying to snatch this little girl from a car and, well, I couldn’t ignore the screams.
Various stories I’ve told since showing up anywhere the past four days with my foot in the boot shown. Truth is, I was walking out of a place in Ft. Myers, and you know those wheelchair ramps that slope down from the curb? Stepped a little wide on that puppy, front of my foot went into that little V, heel hung up on top, and all my weight hit the outer middle of my foot, which was about two inches down, right up against the concrete edge, and SNAP.
The rather bruised, swollen pic is how it looked the night of the break. After I got home, I asked Pam to take a look. She already had a doc appointment the next morning, so I was gonna do whatever was necessary to avoid going to get x-rayed that night. I mean, who wants to sit around in the ER all night waiting for an x-ray? Pam texted the photo to a good friend who’s an EMT with my one question: Can I wait ’til tomorrow to get this checked out?
So, I did. Lousy night, of course, as ice and a 3-year-old painkiller from a hand surgery wasn’t exactly cutting it. But, oh well, what can you do? We’re at Pam’s appointment the next morning, and it went down pretty much as I had laid it out:
“Go ask Dr. D’s nurse if he thinks this needs to be looked at, because Joe wants to go home.”
Nurse looks at it, sees immediately the stupidity of that position (which I didn’t really hold, I knew the thing was broken already), and said, “Hold on, I’ll get you in with Robin, his PA,” or whatever appropriate initials apply. I wasn’t exactly paying much attention at that point. No painkillers in 10 hours and, as is always the case, the thing was much worse the next day than it was immediately after it happened.
I get in quick, Robin says he doesn’t think it’s broken, but orders the x-ray. I get wheeled across the building to radiology. Ten minutes later, despite his initial doubts, confirmed: broken, through and through. 5th metatarsal. Not a great spot, but could’ve been worse. I had hoped to avoid an MRI, but no such luck. If ligaments had been damaged, surgery would be required. If the bone was displaced, surgery might be required. If I could get behind his desk and get his tablet and write up the orders, emergency liposuction might have been required. But, again, no such luck. Damn. Not my week.
MRI results showed no ligament damage. Well, not any recent ligament damage. Doc who read the MRI said, “But you have had damage before. Partial tear of (gobbledygook to me) ligament, this one seems to have healed up pretty well, but this one. Heel spur. Fracture here.” And so on. Then: “Did all this go untreated?”
“Yup. Used to play ice hockey. Played through a lot. That? Would kinda explain it.”
Turns out the doc is a hockey fan, so we talk Stanley Cup for a few before the Cam boot goes on. The break I have is best treated with a hard cast. I, of course, am not interested in a hard cast and the hassles associated with it. (Having to bag your leg to shower, the irritation where it’ll start to rub, not being able to wash one’s lower leg and foot for eight weeks in South Florida during the summer, etc.) He tells me that if I’m the best patient he’s ever had, I might be able to get away with nothing but the boot. But, he finds that unlikely. I have to go back in 2 weeks for more x-rays to see if it’s healing amazingly well, or if he’ll have to hard cast it. Right now? I’m doing my best, which includes, sigh…
Yup, that’s a kneeling scooter. Unfortunately, not gas or battery-powered. (And, there’s a story coming about that, but that’s for another blog). This is how I’m getting around in the house and when we go somewhere, although I spent the first four days on crutches. And, let me just say, being blind and using crutches sucks. The scooter helps out big time. But still.
That’s where things stand. (Ha Ha). Gotta play guitar sitting down. That’s rough. Gotta shower on one foot, leaning against the wall. Not fun. Gotta explain to everyone who hasn’t heard the story yet that I was coming out of a store and tripped over two dwarves who were fighting over the last stool for sale at Target. Think tomorrow, I’m just gonna start handing out biz cards with my blog address printed on it.