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Yesterday at the kitchen sink. Excuse the face in shadow. |
It has been eleven days since the accident when I fell of my
bicycle and broke my hip. I would not choose to suffer the injury but the
support I have received has been extraordinary. It reminds me that most people are
genuinely caring and want to help. That realization started in the
Emergency Room of Holy Cross Hospital on Wednesday and Thursday, June 10 and 11.
And it was reinforced on Sunday, June 14
when I went to ER with a swollen lower leg and foot. Every doctor, nurse and
technician I met at Holy Cross was empathetic and committed to diagnosing my condition
and prescribing the best procedures for my recovery. I remember most every one
of them by name, know a little about them and recall parts of our
conversations. Everybody has a story and each one is worth telling.
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Friday post X-ray in court appointed bloomers. |
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Let me write that down. So, you said I have to use that stupid walker for 12 weeks. |
At 3:00PM Wednesday I was greeted by Camille, a nurse from
Virginia near Washington, D.C. Camille and her husband had been in Taos for
only two months. I asked how she learned about the town and she told me she had
done a three-month assignment here last year. In Latin it is called locum
tenens. She liked it so much that she and her husband decided to move here. And
since he is in financial industry he can work from home. She was glad to be
here. I told her I was very glad she had chosen Taos.
X-rays were taken and came back negative for fractures in the
hip, pelvis, femur, knee and elbow. I harbored hope that nothing was broken. Then
Dr. Peter Neff, the orthopedist on call came by. He was young, hirsute and buff.
His easy manner inspired confidence. He said that the while the X-rays didn’t show
any fractures I was in such discomfort that they’d have to do a CT scan to be
sure. Like the X-rays the scan was done right there in the room and it showed a fracture
near the top of the femur called the greater trochanter. He described the break
as unusual as if that would be a surprise. I wouldn't have an injury that wasn’t
special. Because the fracture was not completely through the femur, that it was
diffuse, it could be dealt with by six weeks without downward pressure on
my right leg, in short a walker, and with physical therapy which should begin
as soon as possible. I was disheartened by the six weeks but glad I didn’t need
surgery. The efficacy of this non-intrusive course of action was to be confirmed
by an X-ray and a follow-up appointment on Friday, June 19. I whined about my
stupid decision to ride with osteoporosis after foregoing it for five years. What
was I thinking? I described how the accident happened when my foot came out of
my pedal and declared that was my last bike ride. Ever. Neff, an avid cyclist, told
me “Don’t jump to conclusions so soon. Get platform pedals that don’t have
a locking mechanism. They won’t be quite as fast but you won’t have your feet
stuck on the pedals.”
I allowed that was probably valid but. “I can’t imagine any
circumstance that would move me to ride again.” And I still can’t.
The night nurse, Falko, was from Germany. I asked
what part and he told me he was from the East, 100 miles south of Berlin. He
was extremely fit. I told him he looked like an athlete and asked what sports
he participated in. He told me he had been a swimmer. He said he was also a martial
artist. Behind a face mask judging his age was difficult. I found myself wondering
if he was old enough to have been part if the East German sports machine, the
drug fueled state system of winning at all costs. I’d like to know more about
him.
“Do you always work the night shift?” He answered, “Always. I prefer it.” Falko was
sincerely concerned about my well-being and I was moved by his attention and kindness.
I felt like I’d met a kindred spirit.
As dawn broke and I hadn’t slept, Cipry Jaramillo the hospitalist
in on duty, visited my space. When I asked what the next steps would be and made
it apparent that I counting on going home Dr. Jaramillo of Belen, NM cautioned that,
“You shouldn’t count on getting out today. In fact, you’ll probably be staying
another night and maybe have to go into a rehab facility.”
I was apoplectic. There was no way I was staying another night.
There was zero chance of rehab stint at the Taos Living Center. That’s where
people go to die as far as I’m concerned. I was rehearsing my refusal speech when
Jaramillo told me, “It’s all up to physical therapy’s recommendation. They’re
going to set you up with a walker and we’ll see how it goes. Personally, I
think you should stay at least one more night.”
“When will I see a therapist?”
“By 9:30 I’d guess.
A few minutes later the therapist Spencer Bushnell appeared with
a DRIVE walker, “the only one you may use” he stressed. He had me get off the
bed, no mean task in my condition, and walk out to the hallway using the walker.
I scuffed along in my johnny for maybe 30 feet passing Dr. Neff is the process.
When I got back to my cell Spencer told me, “You’re good to go.” Lord, I was giddy.
The next day when I scheduled my first PT I asked for Spencer
or for Katherine Kulp who’d led me through the rotator cuff minefield in January
and February. I told the scheduler that I’d like Spencer, Katherine or someone
who was a hip specialist. Since Spencer was away the following week, I had my
first PT session with Katherine on Wednesday. The first visit was largely diagnostic
though she manipulated my right leg and gave me three exercises for my right quadricep, knee and ankle. Being a compliant patient, I have done them
faithfully ever since. I am scheduled for two visits this week and hope that she’ll
assign cardio and strengthening exercises soon. I’m anxious to maintain as much fitness as possible.
On Friday Dr. Marvel, real name, reviewed the new pics and
proclaimed that everything looked good. I could continue with the therapy. The decision to mend without surgery was the right call. I finally bought in.
Then he dropped the bomb. I’d be using a walker for 12 weeks
not six as I wanted to believe. 12 weeks wasn’t part of any conversation. I thought
six weeks was the gold standard for good as new. Uh, no.
I’m will be batshit crazy by September.