I’ve taken too long to start writing this entry. The reason is that there was a quick return to a former state followed a slow return to the previous state. I don’t remember exactly what day it was, except it was Saturday, probably early June.
I had asked St Michael the Holy Mole to come over to oversee another experimental bike ride. I rode around the block a couple of times and felt I was in good enough form to try going further afield. I stopped to inform the Mole and put some things into my backpack before getting back on the bike.
I maneuvered slowly to get myself pointed in the right direction, with my left foot off the pedal. I made a tight left turn which brought the tip of my left foot into contact with the pavement. As I was unable to flex my ankle very much, my foot dragged me off balance. I slowly fell over on my left side, catching myself with my hands (thankfully, I had biking gloves on), but a considerable portion of my weight and that of the bicycle came to rest on my left shin, causing considerable pain.
The Mole came racing out to me along with a neighbour who had heard my cry of pain. I was somewhat stunned by the pain, and it took me a couple of minutes to work out how to separate myself from the bicycle. Once free of the bike, I move myself with my arms and my good leg to the sidewalk to catch my breath. There was no question of getting back on the bike. As it was, I had a hard time getting up the stairs with the Mole’s assistance.
Once at my kitchen table, I immediately took a prescribed painkiller. I had stopped taking them a few earlier, but the pain was such that I had no qualms about taking it. Well, that is not quite true, as I made a point of telling the Mole that I was doing so. I must have had a mild concern. He agreed with the decision.
The Mole left and I fiddled around on the computer for an hour or so, before retreating to my room for a doze. Around seven in the evening, I wanted some supper. However, the pain in my leg had increased to the point that I found that I could barely lift it because of the pain. It took me fifteen minutes to shift my position so that I was sitting on the side of the bed. I tried to steel myself into standing for another fifteen minutes until I gave up and called the Mole for help. He took a taxi over and brought my wheelchair to my bed so I could get about the condo.
There was no obvious sign of break, however, given the way my left leg looks, it was hard to tell. I had called 911, but my case wasn’t deemed particularly urgent and it would about 12 hours before an ambulance came. I demurred on the ambulance. The Mole and I agreed it would be best to wait until the next morning before heading to the hospital.
Around 11 AM, we went to the Emergency Room of the Montreal General Hospital. For various reasons, I didn’t bring my own wheelchair. This resulted in a bit of a contretemps as there wasn’t a self-propelled wheelchair at the door we arrived at. Consequently, the Mole had to push me to the ER. Once in the waiting room, we found first one better wheelchair followed by an even better one. After the initial assessment, I was told to wait, which is what I expected. The Mole had other business to attend and soon left with my blessing. I had come prepared with various bits of reading material as well as my iPad, so I did have something to keep me occupied. However, it was a long wait before I was first X-rayed, before a further wait and then CT scanned.
Some time after six, a doctor informed me that I had broken my tibia, but that it wasn’t as bad break as the previous break. I muttered something sarcastic to the effect that the second half of her statement was beyond obvious as the last time I had seen my femur’s bone marrow! I had been getting a bit hangry.
The diagnosis was both a blow and a reassurance. It was a blow as my limited knowledge said bones take 6 to 8 weeks to heal on average and my tibia had taken much longer. It was also a reassurance as it was something definite and in theory would heal.
I waited until about nine before the on-duty orthopedic doctors showed up. Their names were both Arabic, and I doubt their first language was English. Their beside manners were unfortunately below par even for orthopedic doctors. After putting my foot and lower leg in a light plaster cast, they disappeared with nary a word. I waited in examination room quite some time, before trying to find someone who could tell me what was going on. Unfortunately, I couldn’t get to the nurses’ station as the corridor was blocked by gurneys. I felt disconsolate at being abandoned. I was also frustrated that I was taking up a large room while another patient was snoring on a gurney in the corridor. A couple of police officers came by but as they were escorting a stunned looking woman, I didn’t want to bother them. At some point past ten, I was discharged with the instruction that I shouldn’t put any weight on my left leg and that I would have an appointment with my “regular” ortho doctor on “Thursday”.
Surprisingly, the cast really reduced the pain in my leg. I tried asking my sister the doctor why this was, but she didn’t know. Unfortunately, getting up the stairs without putting weight on my left leg strained my right side considerably.
I took the following few days off. Unfortunately, I wasn’t given an appointment on Thursday, instead it was Friday of the following week. By Thursday, I was going stir crazy, so I asked the kind co-worker who has been giving me lifts to work if she would drive me and my wheelchair to the Library. She was willing to do so on Thursday, but had an empêchement on Friday. The following week, I went to work using two crutches to get around, something that she appreciated.
When I finally got to the orthopedic clinic on the Friday, I was rather stunned by the flow of information, or rather the lack of flow. I had to tell them what had happened nearly two weeks earlier. It seems news of it hadn’t made to them. Then they dropped a bombshell saying that they couldn’t see any sign of a new fracture, merely the remains of my earlier injuries. I gathered that the ortho doctors on duty on the Sunday hadn’t compared the new X-rays with old ones. After a little discussion, they removed the cast and told me to put as much weight on my left leg as I could tolerate. I was nonplussed by this turn of events. For one thing, what had I done to myself to cause so much pain?
The subsequent time has been slow return to something close to my pre-fall status. Only today have I started using my cane again.
There have also been some wretchedly hot days. One of my coping mechanisms is what I call “air conditioning movies”, e.g. movies you go to mostly because the theatre is air conditioned. One of these was the live-action remake of “How to train your dragon.”
There will follow a mild spoiler for those of you who haven’t it or animated original or its sequels.
At the end of the film, Hiccup, the young, thoughtful Viking, saves the day with the help of Toothless, the dragon he trained. However, in doing so both dragon and rider crash to earth, leaving Hiccup unconscious and injured. Cut to Hiccup waking up in his bed at home, no one is around and it is obvious, this is the first time he has been conscious since the battle. Then Toothless appears in the large building having been hidden from view. There is a tender moment of reunion followed by the realization that Hiccup has lost his left foot and an artificial one has been fitted in its stead. With the help of the dragon, he gets up and walks outside to see the village recovering and adjusting to living with dragons as allies.
I had already seen the earlier version and knew what was coming up which the dread of someone who has nearly lost his left foot and who has spent months living in a rehabilitation hospital surrounded by amputees. It takes months of healing before a prosthetic can be fitted. What’s more, you wouldn’t fit a peg leg made with quite a bit of iron to an unconscious person. Nor would a person which such a heavy fake leg be able to get about so quickly, so soon. Yes, I know it is a Hollywood ending to a Hollywood, fantasy film, but even so.
I also found it very harsh that Hiccup wakes up with no human family or friends around him to comfort him and to explain to him what happened. No one to whom he might express the emotional pain of losing a limb.
