Back in the OHER

This was my fourth trip to a hospital in a week. The third to an ER. The second for an accident to my person. There is a wonderful ER nurse named Dawn who is looking into a punch card for me. Every 10 visits I get free parking or a free steeped tea from Tim's.

This string of overpriced parking visits started after work when I was attempting to cut into a ridiculously robust ciabatta with what is essentially a machete. Or at least a big, very sharp kitchen knife. I thought I was alone in the space and unprepared when a co-worker walked through the door beside me with a loud, abrupt exclamation as I was on the downward chop. Suddenly there was a geyser of bright red blood and I moved to protect my white shirt before remembering I should probably be exerting pressure on the spurting, throbbing thumb instead.

My co-worker exclaimed again and began to walk in circles and pull at his hair. He brought over a box of bandages but I had peeked under my hand and this was probably not a band aid situation. I had really wanted to give that ciabatta a what for and it showed in the damage. I sent him to find a calmer human. She walked in, thinking he wanted her help to hang a picture or hold something and there I was standing in a small pool of my own blood, thumb in hand. She grabbed the first aid box and followed my directions. We gauze wrapped it until it was as thick as my forearm, I cut, toasted and ate my ciabatta and I headed out to drive to the hospital, huge gauzy thumb in the air giving the world my thumbs up.

It took 2 and a half hours to go from triage to glued together. The skin of the thumb is too thin and friable for stitches so superglue it is. I'll be adding that to my first aid kit with the duct tape and steri-strips.

The result wasn't too bad - take some Tylenol and no getting it wet for 48 hours. No dishes, yay!

The second visit was to see a friend in for a stay. That was a legit enjoyable hospital visit.

My next visit began with a text. A man who is like a father to me was in the ER in rough shape. That was a long visit as we waited for information and tried to keep him calm. I nabbed leftover training food from work to sustain his children and fed him sectioned clementines as we waited through the long day and evening. We are still hoping things resolve well for him. His two nurses were the nurse I had just seen for my thumb and the nurse I was going to see in two days time.

By Friday I was beat. I had stayed out late listening to music with friends the night before and woke up with a pukey migraine and a full day of training ahead of me. My migraine could smell the dog poo before I even opened the door to come home and then I noticed the phone cradle was gone. I walked the already empty dog, cleaned the poo and looked for the phone setup. It was behind my papasan chair and the line to the wall was also unplugged. Moved the chair, plugged it all in and decided to sweep up the few bougainvillea leaves back there. This was not to the liking of the bougainvillea which immediately jumped off the windowsill and landed with its crazy heavy planter on my left big toe. I knew immediately it was broken. Within minutes it was blue.

The phone was plugged in so I called W to come down and help with the animals while I figured out how to get to hospital. He came down to argue with me. He was already too stressed out for my toe to be broken, which was impressive logic. He knew from past experience that a broken lower bit from me meant more animal care support from him so that was a fair point.

I called a cab, put a boot on the good foot and a loose Birkenstock on the bad one because I somehow thought that would protect me from the -25C cold. I brought the other boot in my hand because I am an optimist. 

The cab pulled up to the opposite side of the street and waited. I stood on the bottom step like a flamingo and tried to signal him to pull into the drive. He did turn around and pull up to my side of the street but then parked there despite me frantically signalling with my boot hand to pull into the driveway. Nope. He stared straight ahead. I had to hop through the unshovelled walk to the driveway but I was too unbalanced and sprawled like a turtle on its back in the snow. He looked over at me briefly and resumed his straight ahead stare. A woman walking down the street asked "are you alright?" I didn't want to be rude but how likely is it that I am voluntarily making snow angels in -25C wearing one Birkenstock with a boot in my hand? Still, she was helpful and got me into the cab with a scowl for the driver and we set off for my home away from home.

It was the usual hospital scene. Everyone coughing, moaning and carrying Ebola, and me in a wheelchair with one boot and one sandal. I was asked during triage if I am in any danger at home. They got me x-rayed. I read a book. They showed me a picture of my toe bones with a chunk missing and taped them together. I made sure I was still safe to fly to Mexico in a few weeks time but when I asked about surfing lessons the doctor's mouth made a small moue, which I took as "you are an idiot".

Dawn, my sweet angel nurse I met 2 nights before, set me up with a cab driver who would get my broken self to the door and up the ice covered front steps. So now I am to be off my feet with ice and elevation for a few days. My toes are taped such that wearing any non-Birkenstock footwear is an impossibility even without the pain factor. I have learned that someone as luck impaired as I, should be keeping her pedicure game up, even in the dead of winter. You never know when someone will be closely examining your little piggies.