Sooooooo, here I am--back at the keyboard. The MacBook keyboard that drives me crazy. I erase and retype constantly. However, since I have yet to find my desk computer and keyboard to which I am accustomed, MacBook it will be. Cannot believe how many unopened boxes are still out in the garage. A topic for another day, perhaps. So, let's talk about the topic at hand--the PELVIS! More specifically, MY PELVIS.
How often do you think about your pelvis? NEVER, right? Me either. That is up until a week ago yesterday. Now I think about it pretty much 24/7. Most of y'all know exactly why I am pelvis-obsessed these days. But just in case there is one person out there in the world who has not heard, let me give a little recap.
Last Thursday, January 24th, I made a serious mistake. Having just gotten out of the shower, and forgetting that I am a 73-year old woman, I, in a very cavalier manner, slung my left leg up onto the bathroom counter and proceeded to clip a toenail. Have done that many times over the years. The process was proceeding in a normal manner until I attempted to reach into a lower drawer to retrieve a nail file. At that point, as best I can recall, my center of gravity shifted, at which point, I took a couple of big hops with my right foot in a failed attempt to gain control. Next thing I knew, my body was headed for the hard tile floor while my left leg was stuck up on the counter. In the process of falling, I think I performed an unanticipated split before the left leg was dragged off the counter. I hit that tile floor HARD! On my right side. I remember screaming in pain--initially thought I had broken my right hip. Bob came running. There I was--sprawled on the floor in my bra and underwear, wet hair, crying my eyeballs out. His immediate and completely sane thought was to call 911. I, on the other hand, who must have been in shock city, said, "No! Help me put on my shirt!" He obliged but continued to urge me to let him call 911. I continued to refuse. For some reason, all I wanted to do was talk to my daughter. Bob called her at work and told her what had happened. She asked him, having the completely sane thought also, if he had called 911. He told her that I was resisting that plan of action. She asked him to give the phone to me. She asked me why I would not let Bob call 911. Through gulping tears, I said, "I DON'T KNOW!" I finally did come to my senses and told Bob to call 911. Then I called my neighbor across the street (a retired nurse) and asked her to come over, which she did immediately. She even managed to get my hair dried before the 911 guys arrived. Temp outside at the time was in the twenties! Those who know me well, know that one of my main concerns at that moment in time was the fact that my hair was not "done," I had no makeup on, my teeth were not brushed, and I was undressed from the waist down!! Call me vain. I don't care--I have my standards, broken pelvis or not.
Summarizing now, another not-so-exciting ambulance ride ( don't get me wrong--I do not want an exciting ride) to the hospital (last one being as a result of my crushed shoulder for which I still blame the Blue Angels); x-rays showing not one but two fractures on the right side of my pelvis; ER doctor confirming x-ray results and telling me to contact an orthopedic doc as soon as I could; and released to go home. WHAT? I cannot even walk!! They bring in a walker and nurse comes in to accompany me to the exit. I explained my inability to walk so she gets a wheelchair, and I somehow manage to get off the bed and into the chair. When we get to Janie's car (she drove Bob to the hospital and stayed with us), the process of me getting out of the wheel chair and onto the front passenger seat of her car must have been something to observe--me gasping in pain and crying like a baby. The nurse standing calmly by. Did she think I was faking it? Finally made it home, after a stop at the medical equipment store to purchase (for $131) a porta-potty (might be the best $131 I ever spent--wish I had not sent the one I had in the Ridgecrest garage to Salvation Army with the thought, "I probably won't need this again." Now, we are in the driveway--how do we get Nancy into the house? Us old people can be quite inventive when we need to be! With a major painful effort, Bob, Janie, and her husband, Steve, helped me out of the car and onto one of our rolling desk chairs. They then rolled me to the front door and into the house. This involved a major weight-lifting maneuver when Janie and Steve (Bob is still on lifting restrictions from his last surgery) had to hoist me up from the sidewalk level to the porch--not sure how they managed that--they probably are still nursing pulled muscles in their backs!
Fast forward to today. One week down, five (maybe seven) to go before I can put weight on the right leg. My major excitement occurs when I try to hotfoot it on the walker from the recliner in the living room back to the bathroom in hopes of making it in time (sometimes yes, sometimes no). I ordered a big box of womern's diapers from Amazon. Had been using Bob's men's diapers (he is having colorectal surgery recovery issues and that's all I am going to say about that), but did you know that diapers are different for women and men? Those of you who used them with babies know this--when Melissa was a baby, disposable diapers (at least like we have today) did not exist. I am certainly better today than I was a week ago. I suspect I will be able to say the same thing next week and the week after that and so on.
In closing (for chapter one, that is), stay safe my friends. There are only one or two people on which I would wish this condition. JUST KIDDING! More to come. Hope I haven't bored my readers (a giant assumption that anyone other than my daughter will have read this). Bob still has not read those wonderful travel blogs from our last RV trip in the summer of 2016.
Your accident-prone, idiot friend
Ill be keeping an eye on your blogs. 😉
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