Well, actually it’s a broken humerus. Mine. Right (dominant) side. In three places.
That’s the upper arm bone that connects to your shoulder. It was a sort of collision between me, my friend’s rambunctious, well-muscled puppy and a fence. The fence won.
“It’s broken,” the ER doc said after the x-rays. He had them squirt vials of delightful drugs into my veins, put me in a sling, and gave me the phone number of a specialist to call on Monday for “follow up.”
“How do they fix it?” I asked. He said sometimes they just keep it in the sling. Sometimes they put pins in it. (I picture a voodoo doll.) He was low-key, comforting as he wrote out a script for me. Then, after telling me to rest and put ice on it, he was off to see the next patient.
The nurse helped me get into a wheel chair, since the delightful drugs were kicking in really well. “Three breaks,” she said in a kind of confidential tone. The number flashed in purple-pink neon in my brain. “That sounds like surgery to me. But then I’m just a nurse.”
I work with seasoned nurses like her every day. I understand that she thinks I should have that possibility spelled out for me and appreciate her candor.
I’ll find out on Monday.
Meanwhile, I’m going to take a break, no pun intended, from posting new stuff here until I get my bearings. Typing with one hand is really, really awful! And-booooo!-taking pictures is no snap (sorry) either.
So roam around the archives for awhile. Some really good stuff lurks there, if I do say so myself. I’ll pop in when I can and come back with barrels of fresh joy as soon as I’m able. If you’re not already on the mailing list, sign up now and you’ll get my “I’m baaaack!” letter the very minute I can send it.
(She exits, stage right, blowing kisses.)