Scars #3 continued...

Oh my goodness, I can't believe that time has flown by and I've not finished my "scars" saga.
Well today, I'm finishing it up....

My last, and well my most thrilling scar story happened in 2003. The day was a Sunday. I remember because we had a dear friend stop by for Sunday dinner.. Pot roast, mashed potatoes, carrots, etc. I started feeling kind of queasy after we ate, but we had company and we just enjoyed visiting. I continued to feel worse as the evening progressed and finally went to bed hoping whatever it was would pass.

During the night I woke up knowing that I had to sprint to the back room and the porta-potty. We don't have indoor plumbing at our place in KY. but I do have a porta-potty in the back room that I use at night and in inclement or cold weather. The path to the outhouse is long in the dark. (LOL) I made it to the back room and emptied my stomach. Now not to be gross, but I felt better and thought that maybe something hadn't set well. I grabbed a pan, just in case, and went back to bed.

I have gotten woozy in the past, and have always felt like I was going to pass out when being sick like that. So the feeling didn't surprise me. I got a drink and headed back to bed. It wasn't long before I was again dashing for the back room.. this time I had a visit from Montezuma's revenge too.. so I sat..pan in hand on my porta-potty, wishing I hadn't eaten anything that day.

all of a sudden I felt like passing out. and then everything went black. I felt pain and came to when I hit the floor.. I felt pain in my shoulder and leg. I know it's weird but I couldn't see anything, and for some reason thought I had fallen in a hole. When I came to a bit more I screamed for husband and tried to stand up. I couldn't. There was to much pain in my leg.

I'm a big girl and hubby could not lift me up. I was kind of wedged in between the dog kennel, cat box on top and the porta-potty. ( I can't begin to tell you how thankful I was that I had not fallen face first into the cat poo) Poor husband drug me to the stove where there was more room and got me up enough to finally get on my feet. He got me to the bed. I figured I had sprained my ankle again. I couldn't walk without intense pain. I had hit the side of the dog box. the door had been open and had ripped my favorite Billy Cyrus Concert T-shirt. I don't mind telling you I was miffed. I loved that concert. Then I felt the blood running. The open door had also cut down my arm and shoulder. Then I was sick again. Hubby ran back and got my pan and brought it to me.. We then decided with both ends running, he better move my potty into the front room with me, by the bed . He checked out my ankle and it was puffed up and red, so my original diagnosis of a severe sprain was confirmed. I thought.

It was a rough night up and down. I was so afraid I would pass out again that I made hubby get up and hold me while I laid on the bed. It was not pretty. None of it. The next morning brought no relief. Sweet husband went to the store and got me some 7- up and crackers. I was so sick, I couldn't even go to the Dr. We decided as soon as I could keep from being sick in the truck for the entire 20 minute ride, I'd see the Dr. and have him check out my ankle. By this time it was puffy and turning colors. my toes too. I was so sick I didn't really care. Getting on my feet was horrible. but once up I could hobble with the best of them. by Tuesday I decided I could probably make the trip to the Dr. so I called and got an appt. I found another bowl to take with me, just in case. I was hoping after the x-ray, I could get something to stop the spewing.

Dear Dr. GR. looked at my ankle. He made a face. He moved it around and moved my leg too. He pronounced that he was pretty sure I had broken my leg. I was shocked. No way. I could walk on it. He sent me to the hospital for x-rays and told me if it was bad they could not set it and they would have to set up an appt. with an orthopedic surgeon. I poo pooed the diagnosis, told hubby they were just being over cautious and we headed to the hospital for the x-ray.

The cool thing about tiny country hospitals is one, they are never busy, so you get right in, two, they have a cool gift shop, and three there is always some kind soul that will tell you all about their aunt Selma who broke her leg and never had it set.

The x-rays were taken and they brought them into the exam room to show me. I had broken my leg. the small bone a couple of inches above the ankle. They couldn't do anything with it as it was a spiral break. They were curious as to how I could have had such a break. They looked at hubby with a bit of disdain as they asked how I could have broken it .. how did it happen hun???
I told them. I fell off the porta-potty. Ya right.. how ridiculous does that sound? They called Dr. GR. and he had his nurse set up an appt. for a week later. I thought that was odd to have to wait for a week, but it wasn't to bad, so I guessed I could take it. I was wrong.

We made a trip to the Sure-way and husband stocked up on Tv dinners. I threw up all the way home and got in bed. I had been given some pain meds so I took them and fell asleep. I woke about 3am in horrible pain. My foot was black and I was sick again. I sat up until I knew my girlfriend was up with her kids getting them ready for school. I called and told her I had to go to a big hospital and go through the ER. No way could I wait a week. So she got the kids on the bus and got to the house. Bucket in hand off we went to the closest bigger hospital. There was a specialist on call. He came down and made sure the bone hadn't moved. We discussed putting in a plate and screws. He suggested we could cast it and wait a few weeks and see how it healed. I agreed. I got my crutches another appt. and headed home. Pan in hand puking my guts out all the way home. Of course I had repeat my "story" of the break to every nurse and physician, x-ray tech etc. No one believed that I fell off a toilet and broke my leg. Especially like that. We finally decided that I must have hooked my foot up underneath the cement blocks that we have the potty sitting on. and it twisted my leg as I fell forward when I passed out.

When I got home poor hubby was on his hands and knees puking his guts out.. we were a pitiful sight. For the Next week my poor girlfriend would come after the kids headed to school, clean the pans, change the beds, fix us something to eat for the rest of the day. set out drinks, crackers, soup, etc. if we felt we could hold them down. she would hall our soiled Jammies and sheets home, wash them and return the next day. That is a true friend. (by the way she spent the next 14 weeks taking me to every appt. cleaning our place, doing our laundry, and fixing our supper most nights)

I could go on and tell you about hubby signing my cast, the countless times I had to "tell the story".. the many ways I tried to think of a cool way I broke my leg. cause no one believes you can break your leg falling off a toilet. I mean no one.. would you believe it??? No.. you wouldn't.

after 8 weeks my leg was not healing, so surgery was scheduled and Dr. G. put in a metal plate and screws. I thought it was sweet of my girlfriends husband and mine to offer to preform the surgery themselves at home with hubby's cordless drill, galvanized drywall screws, some liquid nail, lock-tight, and with a ball peen hammer for anesthesia. I declined and said that I would take the dull old medical way of it. Husband did ask Dr. G the morning of surgery if he could inset the screws so they wouldn't work out. Dr. said he always inset them. and thought the lock-tight would work too. LOL He also pumped my break full of bone grafting putty stuff. I can just see him in the operating room with that big caulk gun filling my leg full of putty.. sheesh..

I had to do another 7 weeks in a cast, but it all healed perfectly. Thanks to Dr. G and God.
I have a scar. Dr. G said that I would be able to wear an ankle bracelet if I chose on the beach in my bikini.. what is this with Dr.'s and this strange bikini fetish??

anyway.. I have a scar.. you can feel my plate, kind of.. the screws never backed out.. and I walk just as always.. that Scar was a long time healing. It took weeks, 14 weeks on a walker. I can't manage crutches. I'm not coordinated enough. so I hopped. You would be amazed at what you can do hopping. Hubby got me an office chair on wheels so he could wheel me up to the stove, and the sink. yes, he did.. I didn't dare cook much. I could only reach the front burners. I fixed it, put it in the pan and he cooked it. mostly chili, soup and sometimes something for the oven. Most of the time we ate TV dinners. The only things he would buy at the store.

I have a scar. It has a story. I think all our scars tell a story. They make us different in some ways. Better I think, they help us learn valuable lessons, they remind us of our fragility as humans, the kindness of friends, the victory of a battle won over illness, or some other thing that has attacked us. I think they make us stronger. I have a scar just above my ankle. A funny scar. A funnier story. A wonderful memory of friends and what the word Friend really means. Scars. They give us character, or make us characters. They show we lived. I like that..