I’m searching for whom or what I can blame for my latest stupid injury, like maybe Mercury Retrograde or the 11/11 portal?
I surely don’t think I would set an intention for — nor manifest — bodily damage, so I guess I’ll have to accept 100% of the blame for this one, which I knew was going to happen seconds before it did.
Here’s the scenario: I was planning to step off the deck, about a foot or so, onto some pavers. The wind had blown a small rug onto the pavers but at the same time that I chose NOT to bend down and remove it, I had the thought that there was a real and distinct possibility that I couldn’t see where I planned to step down, so I REALLY should take the two seconds to remove the rug — but I did not, and there I was, once again on the ground because I had not only awkwardly trapped my foot between two pavers that were obscured by that damn rug, but, as I fell, the edge of one of them hit me HARD at the exact location of my previous split-open shin, I then fell on my wrist (one I had broken a few years ago) andsprained the other ankle as it folded under me, an ungraceful vision, most definitely NOT a pretty sight; not princess-like in any way.
Ouch.
Covered in dirt and leaves, I sat there for a while like I always do, assessing the damage and shaking my head at my own stupidity.
The scar from before looks pretty angry and a bit bloody. There’s already a bump and a lump and is blooming some ugly bruises, but no broken bones this time, at least I hope not. I can live with the sprained wrist/ankle; at this point we’re old friends.
When will I ever learn?
Somebody once said “a definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.” It’s been wrongly attributed to Einstein, but some people think it’s from Rita Mae Brown or a 1981 Narcotics Anonymous pamphlet.
Maybe insanity is not exactly my issue, but I hope one day I learn not to be so careless and impulsive about my personal safety.
It’s hard to believe that it’s been nearly a year since I almost completely split open my leg in that stupid crazy accident.
Last year, we were drenched in neverending rain and this year we’re in the midst of a drought — it hasn’t rained a drop in months — and those LA fires are still burning out of control.
I’ll never forget the moment I slipped and fell on the steps and freakishly hatcheted my leg open all the way down to the bone. (It was SO gross.) Nor will I forget how I perfectly executed everything my RN mom had ever taught me as I carefully bandaged the gaping wound and drove myself to the emergency room in a heavy rainstorm; wracked with pain.
There’s still a slight numbness, an absence of feeling directly at the site, but my worst fears of an infection never happened, thank goodness. That would have been TERRIBLE. No MRSA, no staph, no bone nor blood infection; although the possibilities were there. Sometimes it hurts when I accidentally knock into furniture (actually, I just did that again), but healing was unremarkable.
I watched the whole sewing-up process; stuff like that doesn’t bother me, and I was especially interested in the internal suturing and VERY happy the doc was well trained in trauma. My wound was exceptionally deep (to the bone) and eight inches long — such a bizarre accident.
I’m surprised the internal sutures didn’t pop open because I didn’t pay very much attention to doctor’s instructions about not walking or putting weight on my leg or avoiding physical activities for a month.
Did I learn anything from that unfortunate experience? Did I stop running down the stairs in slippery socks? Actually, I DID, and I’ve continued to be slightly more careful because I definitely don’t want a repeat performance of that fateful day.
It’s an anniversary date that I won’t soon forget. I saved all the photos that I took when it happened and while I was in the ER. They’re constant reminders that life can change in the blink of an eye but those pics are too graphic and scary to share. (You’re welcome.)
I’m no stranger to accidents like the time I ran up the hill at sunset because I heard a coyote, and slipped and fell in the ditch. I broke a bone in my wrist — another completely avoidable incident. I think I finally learned the lesson. Well, maybe. Only time will tell.
How was your Saturday evening? I hope it was better than mine, which you can probably surmise was spent in the emergency room.
Since I’m relegated to enforced rest at the present time, this might be a longish and rambling post…sorry in advance!
Here’s a little background to set the scene:
Lately, I’ve become obsessed with houseplants. It started gradually and before I knew it, I was fully engulfed in collecting, rescuing, propagating, and growing everything from Fiddle Leaf Figs to Calatheas to flowering cacti, and finally, MONSTERA. Yes, I’ve gone completely bonkers for Monstera.
I bought a giant specimen and had finally found the perfect feng shui location for it to thrive, but noticed that it could really benefit from some support.
I ordered a set of moss sticks from Amazon. They were due to arrive yesterday in the late afternoon and as I DO, I kept refreshing the tracking updates.
It was raining heavily when I finally heard the delivery truck.
I was so excited for those stupid moss poles that I FLEW down the flight of oak steps to the front door, wearing my favorite warm but very SLIPPERY socks; a gift from the original Angel Boy…
Without warning, because of course that’s how these things happen, I slipped and fell HARD. I mean really hard because I had been running, so my entire body weight slammed into the last few steps.
Since I’m no stranger to accidents, I sat there for a minute to triage the damage, upset with my stupidity and carelessness, When I ascertained that I hadn’t broken any major bones like a hip, I got up, went outside and picked up my package.
At that point, I had no idea what really happened.
The only part of me that had sustained the major hit was my left shin and I got an ice pack and lay down on the sofa. The pain was intensifying and when I lifted the ice pack, I saw a lot of blood seeping through my leggings.
WARNING: THE REST OF THE STORY IS KIND OF GROSS, not for the faint of heart.
You know how you have a feeling of impending doom? That’s what was going on with me.
I went to the bathroom, and before I looked at my leg, I brought out all my first aid stuff; gauze, tape, compression pads — just in case.
I washed my hands and gingerly and gently pulled up the bottom of my leggings and almost fainted (or threw up) at what I saw.
My leg looked like someone had slashed it with a hatchet and there was an open, gaping wound on my shin, all the way down to the tibia. I saw muscle and BONE. For real. Definitely not for the faint of heart, but I was trained by a wonderful nurse, and knew what to do.
I didn’t bother cleaning it at this point. I ripped open a large sterile gauze square with my teeth because I needed BOTH HANDS to close the two sides of the laceration. I did the same with the tape. After I placed a compression pad over the gauze and secured it with more tape, I knew this was no easy fix and I’d have to endure a visit to the emergency room.
I drove to the better of my two ER options, walked up to the desk and explained that I had a deep laceration that needed to be sutured.
They actually took me to a room immediately. I’m grateful that it was a slow evening and not very many people were there.
From the moment I arrived, everyone was helpful and lovely. Also since it was a slow night, many people came in the room to look at my leg. They praised my initial bandaging, and made jokes about why didn’t I sew it up myself, since it looked like I knew what I was doing.
At a time like this, humor is a great quality to possess, and I enjoy a good joke to lighten the atmosphere. I showed off pics of the grandkids, we discussed football playoffs, and they shared some of their more grisly ER injuries.
One person said she came in to see my leg because of how calm I was when I explained why I was there and she didn’t expect to see an eight-inch gash that must have hurt like hell, but I told her I’m always calm in the face of disaster and it didn’t hurt that much. (It does now, though. A lot.)
Because of the severity of the wound, I needed to have an x-ray to rule out any damage to my tibia before it got sutured. Luckily, my bone wasn’t compromised; no breaks or chips or blood vessel issues.
Other parts of my body are bruised from the impact, but my poor leg took the brunt of the fall from these beautiful but apparently now deadly oak stairs…no one has ever slipped before; I guess it was my lucky day, right?
More people came in to observe this AMAZING trauma surgeon repair the laceration. His wife was a doc too, an ophthalmologist, and we chatted about medical things while we waited for the suture cart and he determined how he was going to sew me up.
After the lidocaine injections, I couldn’t feel a thing, so I watched him work. It was kind of like an out-of-body experience. I probably bothered him with a million questions (like I always do) but he also taught medicine and he was patient and pleased to provide me with detailed answers.
A wound like that (think sharp hatchet splitting wood) needs layers of internal sutures as well as the exterior ones.
I had a total of twelve sutures and a few internal ones. After finishing the job, the doc told me how very lucky I was, because if the wound had been even a couple inches to the right, tendons and muscles would have had to be surgically repaired. Yup, I was lucky.
The tech came back in to dress my leg, adding about fifteen Steri-Strips between the sutures.
The nurse took a bunch of pics that are too graphic to post here and I know it’s going to leave an ugly scar, but I don’t mind because it’s a constant reminder to NEVER again wear slippery socks on those oak steps. EVER. NEVER. Lesson learned.
After all this time, after all my injuries, once again I accurately diagnosed a medical issue.
Last March I did a deep weighted squat and felt something pop in my right knee. My stubborn self chose to overlook the subsequent discomfort and stoically carry on.
We need a backstory here...This is the same knee that was injured when I carelessly pulled a full and very topheavy garden waste trash can to the street, blithely ignoring the fact that the wheels were tangled up in fruit tree netting.
I mean, for a split second the thought crossed my mind that I should probably untangle it before I rolled it down the hilly driveway but I did not.
So…as you can probably guess, my feet became entwined in the netting which then pulled the heavy can down on me, twisting my leg and knee beneath it.
I know, I know. I’m not bright, also extremely impatient.
Once I deduced that my knee/leg wasn’t broken, I iced it for a while and endured the pain on the lateral side of my knee. A few months later, I had some physical therapy which actually seemed to help and I was back to normal movement.
And that’s how I ended up doing a weighted squat. Again, I iced it and figured it would take a while to heal, whatever it was, but this time there was no specific pain location. I wore a brace and compression sleeve and that didn’t really help.
Finally, I was able to pinpoint the pain, did my research and thought it was a medial meniscus tear along with an inflamed bursa, right below the knee.
I waited a really long time before telling my doctor (too stubborn to admit defeat), but when the pain wouldn’t subside, I did. She ordered an x-ray and when the results were unremarkable, she ordered an MRI, the appropriate course of action.
That was my first ever MRI. For me, it was a pleasant experience, probably because only my legs were in the machine.
The results came back as I had predicted:
There is a complex meniscal tear involving the posterior horn of the medial meniscus.
Severe chondromalacia involving the lateral patellar facet (also known as Runner’s Knee)
Mild joint effusion. (I believe it’s the pes anserine bursa.)
Now I have an appointment with the same orthopedic office where I’ve often visited for other dumb accidental broken bones and torn ligaments.
SIGH.
Just call me Doctor Rosebud BUT don’t be like me and wait months suffering before seeing a professional!
Due to a communications mixup, I didn’t get to see the new podiatrist until today.
Lemme back up…about a month ago, my foot started to hurt after a long walk. At first I thought it was a stress fracture, but there was no bruising.
Pretend doc that I think I am, I decided it was a joint or tendon injury: extensor tendonitis and possibly capsulitis of the second metatarsal. I wore a boot in the house, iced it, soaked in epsom salts, taped it up with KT tape, and did a lot of stretching.
Refusing to give in to the pain, I forced my poor foot to go on long walks that were excruciatingly painful.
Finally, this morning, I got an xray and waited for the doc. Actually there were two of them that came in to see me, ‘cos I guess it was a slow Monday. They asked me what happened and I gave them both the benefit of my ZERO years of medical school.
I was pretty chatty and finally, one of them broke in and said, “How’d you like to look at the xray?”
I said, “Well, you could have shut me up about five minutes ago haha”, but he said he liked listening to my diagnosis, even though I was totally wrong.
The xray left no doubt as to what the problem is IT’S a COMPLETELY BROKEN stress fracture at the base of the toe and not healing because I kept re-injuring it.
My initial diagnosis was correct! I should have gone to medical school for real, oh well, too late now…
I hate my feet, I really do, they’re tiny but completely deformed from too many years of ballet and toe-crushing pointe shoes, in addition to breaking every toe multiple times because I’m CARELESS. I call them my fat little trotters.
I can’t walk anywhere for two weeks, I have to wear a hiking boot in the house, I can’t go barefoot at all, and I had to promise to actually and truly wear the boot so I wouldn’t be forced to have an aircast up to my knee. In other words, my foot needs to be completely immobilized.
On the plus side, they told me I had the softest feet they had ever seen, (which was only slightly weird) and they loved my high arches–from an anatomical perspective. The docs said I should see the rest of the feet THEY have to look at all day, and in that regard, my feet were a PLEASURE. LOL. AND that my sunny disposition cheered them both up because they were having a not-so-great Monday. We spent a lot of time laughing which made me happy, too.
There’s a SLIGHT chance I’ll have to have surgery in January, but only if it doesn’t finish healing correctly if I disregard their expert advice.
That’s my Monday, I hope yours is less fraught with injury!
I slipped and fell in this ditch Sunday evening in our upper yard as I was looking for coyotes in the hill on the other side of our property.
I was wearing flip flops (not smart) and my hand broke my fall, but then I broke my hand.At first I thought it was just a sprain or torn ligaments, but the pain was really, really bad, so I had it X-rayed and the doc confirmed my suspicions.
I’m in a removable cast for about six weeks — no weightlifting but I can do anything else that doesn’t cause pain.
My hand is super swollen and all bruised up, too.
I might not be able to lift weights, but there’s nothing to prevent me from shopping!
I never did see any coyotes but I snapped a pic of this amazing hawk in our eucalyptus tree.
Enchanted Seashells | Princess Rosebud 