My fellow housemates and I have decided to enter into the magical realm of home ownership. As a means to that end, we met on Thursday with a real-estate agent friend of mine to look at properties. We crossed the first one off the list almost on sight, and we almost did the same with the second one because of the neighborhood it’s in. Unfortunately, we decided to take a look for the sake of comparison.
I say unfortunately because as I was going from the main part of the house into the finished garage, I completely missed the two-inch step down from the doorsill. Most of you know that my right leg was amputated below the knee many years ago and that I wear a prosthetic. As I stepped down and began to fall, my prosthetic leg remained firmly affixed to the floor and my knee twisted. SNAP! You know that funny feeling that something just “ain’t right”? Well, I had that feeling but I was able to manage a walk to the car. Once I sat still, there was no real pain, just a vague feeling of unease. So off we went to the next property.
Once there, I swung my leg out of the car and put my foot down on the ground. I wish I could describe the feeling, but I’ll spare you, dear readers. Suffice it to say that I stayed in the car while my roomies went to look. By the way, they LOVE the place. Wish I’d seen it. We headed back toward home base to look at three more places but I asked the agent to drop me off at home so I could seek some medical attention. One of my housemates carried me from the car to the house and as soon as we had me settled in my wheelchair (which has long been relegated to a closet) we were off to the ER.
Once they cut my pants off and removed the prosthetic and its sleeve, it became apparent that things were, well, grotesque. Off to Radiology where they contorted me into several less-than-flattering positions. If I was into BDSM, this would have been just the place because they seem to take great pleasure in pointing out that “this might be a bit uncomfortable”. Ya think? Once I was back in the treatment area, a doctor came in and took a cursory look and poked and prodded at the various lumps and bumps.
Remember that “ain’t right” feeling? Now it hurts! It hurts an-effing-lot! In fact, I am fast sinking into a state of irretrievable nausea. A PA comes in with a Lortab for pain. Lortab? Are you kidding? My leg is snickering at your Lortab! But I take it. Lortabs make me even more nauseous, but that’s okay because when the Lortab does kick in, I don’t care about nausea or anything else. PA comes back in (she’s great, by the way) and announces that I have sustained a “displaced lateral condyle fracture of the lower extremity”. Medspeak for “you have a broken leg”. They try to put a knee stabilizer on me, but that was too painful so they sent me home with a nice selection of Ace bandages and a script for more Lortabs, and instructions to keep my leg still. Oh, and instructions to follow up with an orthopedist on Friday.
First thing on Friday morning, I call the office to which I’ve been referred. They can see me NEXT Friday. Glad it’s not an emergency. It’s only the leg that I walk on, after all.
In the meantime, here’s my question; how does one break a leg she doesn’t have? It could only happen to me!