Okay, RECAP! Walked dog, dog chased rabbit, became a human kite, hit the ground, heard bones break, now on the way to the hospital.
Of course, the first order of business once I arrived at the hospital was how the treatment was going to be paid for. So, I got pushed in a wheelchair to a little office. The money lady started to ask me questions, suddenly stopped, and said “You look a little shocky…are you feeling shocky?” “I don’t know,” I thought, “by shocky, do you mean outrageously annoyed that I am sitting here holding my own bone in place as you fill out a form?”
Finally, it was my turn to be wheeled back to the examination area. Of course, I was embarrassed to tell the ER doctor how I got hurt, and I waited for some kind of reaction. “That makes you the third today” he said flatly. “In fact, there is a broken wrist three beds down that just came in. She was walking a Great Dane.” That’s terrific; I wasn’t even the most interesting dog walking case. Now, I felt shocky and mediocre.
I was taken to radiology, then back to the exam room to wait for the ER doctor again. “Your collar bone is broken in several places” he said as he walked in and held up the X-ray for me to see. My once solid collar bone now looked like a game of pick-up sticks. Wow, I thought, this was going to take some extensive surgery to put it back the way it was. “You are going to need to wear a sling for several weeks, and I will send you home with some pain meds.” “Wait,” I said, “how are my bones going to heal on their own?” “Bones are very amazing, they actually remember where they are supposed to be and will create new bone.”
No way. I wasn’t buying this. If my bones' memory was anything like the rest of me, I was in trouble. Take my butt, for instance. I was sure it didn’t remember where it used to be when I was in my twenties. And, after having children, my abs had no clue how to return to their pre-pregnancy condition! “I tell you, Doc, we just can’t rely on this body!” I wanted to shout at him.
A nurse came in to show me how to use the sling, and after a quick trip to the pharmacy, we headed home. As I was getting out of the car, Mr. Macho Firefighter, who lived next door, was just leaving for the station house. After a quick exchange about my accident, he said to me “If you need help putting your makeup on, I would be happy to do it for you. I do my wife’s every morning.”
It took a lot of time, a whole lot of Percocet, and a lot of help from friends and family, but I did finally heal. Life returned to normal, and the experience became a distant memory. The only real lasting effect are the haunting visions I have of my neighbor with an axe in one hand and a mascara wand in the other. Ugh…makes me feel a little shocky.