Wednesday, February 20, 2019

How I broke my ankle

So, I'm finally home from what should have been a half hour routine check-up with my nephrologist (or kidney doctor for stoopid yanks) at Lillehammer hospital, but turned out to be a long day being shipped up and down between doctors, the x-ray machine (3 times!) and more doctors. And lots of wrinkly, ugly, old nurses; not even the hot kind. Meh. The only good thing that happened all day was when I was waiting to take a blood test (for the kidneys) and a young lady with a small kid went in before me and the noises that came out of that office sounded more like a bunch of wildcats fighting than a human child. For all I know, her head spun round and she projectile vomited dark blood.

Anyway, to recap: I slipped on the ice outside McDonalds, parked at the hospital, limped in and had my half hour, was sent up to x-ray which looked like a fracture, was sent down to orthopedic and promptly sent back up to x-ray to get better pics, then down again to get a slight cast around my ankle, up to x-ray to confirm that the cast was placed right relative to the injury, then down to orthopedic yet again, where they explained to me how to use crutches, which I've never used before.

In between all this there was endless waiting, which allowed me to finally, but fucking finally understand WHY people sit on their little smartphones all day and I gave thanks to Bob the Rain God that I had finally gotten one. I emailed my landlady and my boss and posted updates and insults on FB.

It was almost like being in a very slow, cumbersome version of home; like an Amish Facebook user, with my tongue sticking ever so slightly out of the corner of my mouth as my sausage fingers searched for the right button to push and by mistake pushed the one beside instead. Yeah, that happened. A lot. But I managed, and now I am back to my dear laptop with its large keyboard and screen.

"But what happened with the ole' leg", I hear you say, for I frequently hear voices and they're not always screaming for the blood of innocents. Well, the slight cast I have on now will probaby go off in a week, to be replaced by a proper, harder cast. At the same time they will also do a CT-scan of the leg and even make a decision on whether to operate or just leave it to grow of its own accord.

The doc in orthopedics told me that due to my diabetes-related neuropathy, there was good news and bad news. On the bright side, I won't feel as much pain as I normally would. On the not so bright side I will heal more slowly. Which brings me to a potentially big problem; estimated time I have to have a fucking cast on, precluding moi driving my beloved automobile, indeed any automobile at all, is 9 weeks versus normally 5-6.

We'll have to wait and see how the injury heals, but I was supposed to go to Scotland to chaufeur a couple of Californians around on April 17th. Iffin that 9-week time table still stands, there are two possibilities; either I need to arrange for a hand-controlled handicap car or a certain Californian needs to learn how to drive on the left.

I was sent home by taxi tonight - almost an hour's drive to the tune of appx 2500 NOK/300 USD, of which I personally paid a measly 149 NOK/17 USD. The rest is paid for by all you Norwegian readers through your taxes; a heartfelt thanks!

The walk from the courtyard along the garage and round to my entrance was almost too much and I would not have made it if not for the support of the taxi driver. I almost fell several times and the actual steps up to my apartment turned out to be too much for my crutches and my by now worn out left leg, which had had to bear the brunt of the struggles. I had to use my right leg for support even though I'm really not supposed to put any stress on it the first week. My landlady very kindly helped me with getting seated and brought me drink and medicines and stuff, but I already fear getting up and doing even the simplest things, like making a sandwich or *shudder* going to the bathroom.

Tomorrow I need to call my primary physician to write me a sick note for work and also I must contact the municipal authorities to hear what types of aids they can offer me, like maybe a walker. I foresee several weeks of cumbersome shittiness, medical mistakes interspersed with hours of tedious waiting and not least lots and lots of pain, glorious pain. I want a blanket, hot cocoa and sympathy, knowing full well that y'all are gonna rip me to shreads for being a whiny bitch who should have just gnawed off my leg and gotten on with it.

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