#YouCan’tMakeThisStuffUp Part 5 of 5

Today’s blog post wraps up my recent tale of woe. We pick up the story when the nurse was checking on the status of my shower chair/portable toilet and the woman at the other end of the phone call responds, “I’m on it.”

In case you missed Part 4 yesterday, here’s a link to it: #YouCan’tMakeThisStuffUp Part 4 of 5. ­­­­

Home at last

I’m finally presented with my “throne” and Marie and I leave the hospital. We stop on the way home for some lunch at a fast-food restaurant’s drive-through window since we are now getting very hungry. (My breakfast had been interrupted no less than eight times by various hospital personnel, so I don’t remember what or when I ate it.)

My sister, Marie, is a very resourceful person. Not able to find a bridge threshold ramp that will work with our particular threshold, she goes to the basement and comes back with two wooden planks, a piece of 2-inch wide crown molding, and a piece of slick-backed insulation. She’s a genius!

Her plan works great! When I need to go for a follow-up appointment with my doctor, we won’t have to call the fire department to carry me out of the house! We are proud of ourselves, but mainly I’m proud of Marie. She figured this out!

An outing to see the physician’s assistant

I make an appointment to follow up with my primary care physician. When I explain to the lab technician how I broke my leg, she says, “You’re kidding, aren’t you? How did it really happen?” After I assure her that I’ve told her the real story, she says, “You can’t make this stuff up!”

I agree. I write some fiction, but I lack the imagination to make up the story you’ve read since Monday.

What next?

The other day I texted my friend, Kay, about the latest part of my tale of woe. Kay texted back, “LOL! What’s next?”

Less than an hour later, Marie is pushing me down the hall in my rollator. Suddenly, it becomes difficult to push. I can’t believe it when Marie says, “You have a flat tire!”

Who knew a rollator could have a flat tire?

I texted Kay. She responded, “I’ve used a rollator for years, but I’ve never had a blowout!”

My rollator is old. Marie bought it at a yard sale. It’s so old, replacement tires are not made for it. I could order one on E-Bay that might work, but for an additional $50.00 I could purchase a new rollator.

Since I won’t need the rollator forever, and I have a very resourceful sister, I don’t need to buy a new one. Marie repaired the tire with duct tape! It brought back memories of our father having tires recapped back in the day before the invention of radial tires.

Where things stand today

I can get in and out of the house in my rollator with Marie’s assistance. Of course, now we’re under a “Stay at Home” order in my county due to the COVID-19 pandemic.

I can’t put any weight on my right foot for another three-and-a-half weeks, and it remains to be seen what happens to the physical therapy I’ll need in the coming months. I can’t imagine any physical therapists will be seeing patients in the coming months.

I expect to be on a blood thinner for the next three months, since the pulmonary embolism was the result of an accident and not due to an underlying medical condition. My lung continues to hurt if I lie down flat, so I’m sleeping nearly sitting up. I still run a fever most evenings. I’m trying to learn patience.

The phone still rings and it frustrates me when the caller ID box says, “SPAM” or “Fraudulent Caller” and I wonder why the phone company isn’t filtering such calls.

One caller left a voicemail. She claimed her name was “Sunshine” and that she knew I was an author. She said she represents “a hybrid company that also invests in French National Book Rights.” She asked that I call her at 302-770-____, Ext. 87, but I didn’t. I’m only an author because I wrote a vintage postcard book, The Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina and I doubt that anyone wants to translate it into French.

By the way, the burial insurance agent called again yesterday. That recorded caller doesn’t give up easily.

Until my next blog post

Take care of yourself. Stay home, if you possibly can. Listen to the medical experts and other scientists.

Write a note of caring and thanks to someone you know – maybe to the pharmacist, the nurse at your doctor’s office, or the cashier at the grocery store.

Be resourseful! Be like Marie!

Today concludes my tale of woe since fracturing my leg on January 27.. At least, I hope the “woe” part of the tale is over. On Monday I plan to resume my usual weekly blog post.

Janet

A thank-you note
Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

#YouCan'tMakeThisStuffUp Part 2 of 5

In case you missed #YouCan’tMakeThisStuffUp Part 1 of 5 yesterday, here’s a link to that blog post: https://janetswritingblog.com/2020/03/23/youcantmakethisstuffup-part-1-of-5/.

Today we pick up my tale of woe as my sister, Marie, dials 9-1-1 after falling into me and fracturing my tibia. Of course, we don’t know exactly what my injury is at this point.

It is determined that she can take me to the hospital if the fire department will send out a crew to provide “lift assistance.”

Fire truck
Photo by mauro arrue on Unsplash

The firemen are great! They help me sit down in the rollator we had for Marie’s knee surgery recovery. The three firemen pick me and the rollator up, take me out the door, and down the steps to the car. Off Marie and I go!

What happened to you?

While signing in at the emergency room and being triaged, everyone wants to know how I got hurt. I’m trying to make light of the situation because I have no idea I have a fractured leg. (I’m in pain, but I haven’t considered that the accident could have fractured a bone.)

Everyone at the hospital thinks I’m kidding when I tell them what happened. Imagine my surprise when the x-rays show a closed fracture of my right tibial plateau. I didn’t know my tibia had a plateau. Since the bone hadn’t come through the skin, I have no idea how life-changing this injury will be.

Meanwhile, Marie is getting tired of my including her in the story of how I got hurt. I tell her, “That’s too bad. If I leave you out of the story all that’s left is, ‘I was stirring soup and broke my leg.’ That makes no sense. The truth – the whole truth – is a much more interesting story.”

What do you mean you don’t have a key?

They put my leg in an immobilizer and give me a pain killer that makes me so dizzy I can’t stand up to be discharged. When that passes, I’m wheeled out to the car and we set off for home.

We’re really hungry. It’s after 1:00 a.m. on January 28, and it’s been a long time since lunch. We’re glad to get home and can’t wait to call the fire department for lift assistance again, get something to eat, and go to bed.

key
Photo by Allie Smith on Unsplash

Marie gets out of the car, goes to the porch, comes back to my car window and says, “I can’t find the house key!” I try to calmly ask, “What do you mean you don’t have your house key? I don’t have mine because all we took of mine was my wallet.”

Sorry to wake you up, but…

There’s nothing for us to do but call our friend, Carol, who has a key to our house. (Before you start yelling at me….. We used to have a spare key hidden in the yard in one of those little fake rocks, but a raccoon or some other wildlife moved the “rock” and dumped the key out in the grass. We hadn’t yet worked out a new hiding place.)

By now it’s 1:30 a.m. Carol comes to our rescue and apologizes for being her pajamas. We don’t care what she’s wearing. It’s cold, we’re hungry, and we’re just glad she was at home and able to find that key!

To be continued. . .

Until my next blog post

As the whole world journeys through this Coronavirus-19 pandemic, remember we’re all in this together. Stay safe. Take care of yourself and your loved ones. Eat comfort food.

Tune in tomorrow for #YouCan’tMakeThisStuffUp Part 3 of 5.

Janet