Ouch.

Aaack!  My upper arm still hurts, 5 months after that damn fall that broke my patella. When I fell last September, the med team asked if I hurt anything more than my knee. I was on drugs. I felt no pain. I said no.

It wasn't until I was off the strong meds, weeks later, that I realized I'd damaged my upper right arm when I used my arm to block my fall.

I have ignored the soreness for five months because healing the kneecap kind of made everything else pale in comparison. I didn't want to get off the couch. I didn't want to leave the house. I didn't want to see more doctors. Wheelchairs, walkers, ill-fitting braces, keeping my right leg stick-straight, watching The Great British Baking Show - there were SO many good reasons to ignore a sore arm.

My knee is mostly healed, but my arm still hurts every day. I could live with it. I could! Advil takes the pain away in 4 - 5 hour time slots. But pain wakes me up at night, and it hurts when I try to brush the back of my hair, or put on a sweater.  Enough!

I start physical therapy on my arm on Monday. 

Bitch, bitch, moan.  What a pain!

I guess I still have work to do.  

Knee jerk reactions: part 2 Get down!

Alone in the ER cubicle with my fractured knee sticking up in the air, I settled in to that "place where there's no space or time." I detached as one might reasonably do to avoid traumatic pain. And by "settling in," I mean settling in for the long haul, the inevitable. There was no quick fix for this.

As reality would have it, a couple of doctors came in and introduced themselves as part of my surgical team. They were there to bring my knee back down.  Shudder.

A doctor is going to want to bring a knee down fast. They know the pain will be excruciating, but they want to minimize the time. Understandable. They began, and I have to tell you it was the worst pain I ever felt. Halfway down, I made them stop.

I looked at one of the doctors and said, "I'm so sorry, but I just don't think I can do this." Hahaha. I really meant it, too.

She wandered off to get even stronger drugs. The other doctor and Tom were on either side of me. I thought, "Forget this, I'm doing it myself." And I did. I didn't ask permission, and I didn't listen to what anyone around me was saying. I used my good foot to push the foot on my bad leg forward slowly, slowly. I followed the path of no pain. If it hurt, I'd push it in a slightly different direction. After a minute or two my whole leg collapsed into a normal extension. I'm not saying there was no pain, but it was minimal compared to what I experienced when they were trying to shove it down in place.

The doctor was amazed. He said "I've never seen anything like this." I was SO overly proud of myself that I pretended I didn't know what he was talking about. Oh, the games I play. 

Knee jerk reactions, part 1: How

TRIGGER ALERT

I have always been good in a crisis. I fall apart weeks later.

As is typical for me, I was doing 3 things at once. Family was coming for dinner, and I was picking up clutter, making gazpacho, and doing laundry. I multitask to keep from getting bored, but (numbnut that I am) I fully understand it kept me from focusing and caused this accident. By all that is holy, I'm gonna change!  

Our washer and dryer are in the garage sitting on a concrete step. Built in the mid-1990's it is not wide enough to comfortably hold the newfangled humongo appliances AND a human being without paying close attention to where you are. I was not. I slipped and began my descent. As I fell, I concentrated on shielding my upper body. I did not anticipate my right knee might hit the concrete step where the riser meets the tread.

I heard the crunch and knew I'd broken my patella. I later learned it was broken into three pieces, plus change. However, I felt nothing at first. It was surreal. I was able to roll over onto my back (probably not a good idea). I instinctively raised my knee, searching for a comfortable position (also probably not a good idea) as the pain escalated. I found my pain-free position before the worst of the pain kicked in, absolutely not considering the maxim that what goes up must come down. I wasn't thinking.

I screamed for my husband, T. I didn't scream for the pain, by the way. I screamed for the horror.  And, of course, because T is hard of hearing.

I could see he was shaken as he looked at the grotesque condition of my knee. My man was so freakin' sweet to me as he called the ambulance and packed my overnight bag. Let me just say to the entire world: I love that man.

Almost immediately, 4 kind EMT's shot me up with potent painkillers and lifted me onto the stretcher. I was deliriously happy to see one was a woman, so I took the time to congratulate her on being in a non-traditional job. I should have asked if they were registered to vote. Unfortunately, I forgot.

Away we flew to the Orlando Hospital trauma unit, sirens flashing. I have to admit, that was fun. 

I couldn't sit up to see so I begged an EMT to take pictures for future reference. I'm a total fiend. Unfortunately, my phone was in my overnight bag in T's car. He was following the ambulance.  Bummer.

At that point there was no possibly of straightening my leg, or moving at all without inflicting excruciating pain. Thankfully, the EMT's thought they'd let the doctors deal with that. I was transported to and into the ER with what looked like a leg with three knees sticking straight up in the air. People stared.

The head EMT got into a snippy argument with an aide about how to move me from the ambulance gurney onto the hospital stretcher. He wasn't taking any shit, and insisted it be done his way. I trusted him with my life but I felt sorry for the aide. Geez, I love hospital dynamics, it's always like watching a movie.

To be continued.

Will you forget the pain?

When I was in hospital giving birth to our daughter 47 years ago, we agreed to allow student nurses to observe my labor. Actually, I didn't agree. They never asked the writhing mass of agonizing humanity in the bed. Instead, they asked my 20 year old husband, who said "Sure."

The student nurses engaged with me before and after contractions, asking questions. I remember announcing (loudly) I was never having another child because it hurt like Hell. They giggled and knowingly assured me I would both forget the pain and have more children. Well, that pissed me off.

Seriously, they said that to a woman in hard labor. No sympathy, no drugs, just happy-crap jargon. As if that information would make everything okay. The present doesn't exist, only the future? Nah, if anyone knows  reality it is a woman in the throes of hard labor.

Right then and there I made up my mind NEVER, EVER to forget, and not to have more children. True story. I am my own worst enemy.

The first night home with the baby I slept as badly as she did. I kept dreaming famous patriarchal icons got me pregnant and I was going to be forced to deliver their baby against my will. One famous icon was John Wayne. The other was Pope John XXIII. Thankfully, I didn't dream about the sex.

My niece had a baby yesterday. Another niece had a baby last week. One of my granddaughters is due in a couple months. It's all so glorious and exciting I can hardly breathe.

When women I love are in labor I can recall my own labor and delivery crystal clear.  Except for the pain. I know it hurt, but I don't remember hurting. 

I kind of wish I had done it again.