Lazarus
My apologies.
I did not in fact drop off the face of the planet, instead I dropped off the landing. Any of you who know me are aware that I have a habit of "adventure".
The files are in the computer? My computer exploded in March. Actually, it was far less exciting than that, there was no even a weak fizzle, let alone pretty flames. The thing just simply refused to turn on one day. None of the fancy computer geeks were able to coax it back to life. No one could wrest information from it's lifeless corpse. I spent the next week in a panic attempting to help my daughter recreate her winning Science Fair project so she could go to state.
I bought a new computer. This one is now already defective in that the CD/DVD drive doesn't work. I have angered the electronics fairies apparently. I hereby offer them my sincerest apologies and would add bribes if I knew the appropriate tender.
May. May 2nd to be exact. My daughter had a fever of 104 (already on medication). Our only shower is in the basement. Daughter is dizzy. "Mom, you go downstairs first". Are you picturing the scene? Yes, that's right. I went down first. Head first. Once I could talk again, really it was only a couple of seconds, I had her sit down and slide the rest of the way down the stairs. "No stop screaming, you don't need to call 911." She got me a chair to lean on, because my foot was already swelling, and I pushed/hopped/cursed my way into the bathroom to get her in the shower for the fever. I was very proud of the fact that I did not vomit.
Several minutes later we both crawled back up the stairs. I called my mother. Yes, ladies and gents, I have a stick shift and there was no way I could drive myself and my daughter to the ER. We got a suite, I in my wheelchair and she in her.... okay I can't make the Night Before Christmas thing work, but anyway. X-rays all around. "She doesn't appear to have pneumonia ma'am". Talk about adding insult to literal injury. Please don't call me ma'am. "You have sprained your foot. Here have this lovely black boot. Yes, I know it hurts a LOT. Just put it up when you get home. We'll give you some nice drugs."
WRONG. I work in pathology. My Medical Director, who is very fond of me, has a wife who is the Head of Radiology. Three days later, ("no I still can't walk boss, and I'm not driving my car so I'll be home for the rest of the week") the wife of the doctor who is my friend called me at home. She said that given her husband's description of the story he'd heard about how I fell she was worried that I might have a commonly undiagnosed injury that was very serious. Could she look at my x-rays, better yet, could she call in a favor and have one of the two best foot surgeons in the state work me in on his day off. I said, "Certainly. Thank you very much. It's far too kind of you." She called me back and informed me that I had an appointment on the Monday (two more days hence) and that I was to "NOT walk on that foot!" I got crutches.
Gimpy goes to the Hospital and is renamed Gumby. There were x-rays, examinations of my fingers of all things accompanied by explanations of "My you are very bendy indeed", calling of residents to "look at the classic, perfect example of this injury" and the scheduling of surgery. Evidently there are ligaments that hold the long bones at the top of your foot together. I managed to rip those off quite neatly. You've gotta be impressed by a doctor that can diagnose your x-rays over. the. phone. Julia is brilliant.
Liz gets screwed. The very nice men and women in the white coats - no not them, although by the end of the ordeal I was wondering if I should call them - took me into ultrasound to put a nerve block in my leg. Those things are wicked cool. I highly recommend it to anyone with bone surgery. They had me sign my name on my leg. I can tell you that that is not exactly a comforting thought. "What do you mean I have to identify the injured limb. You don't know?" and then I was out for the count. I had a lovely hole drilled in several bones and a screw inserted diagonally through them.
This story is getting far too long. Two weeks in a soft cast. Four more weeks in a hard cast. Nearly eight weeks off of work with instructions to "SIT" and do nothing and take all these lovely drugs so you don't die. Work called me nearly every day until they finally realized that my brain was mush. I watched far too much really bad TV and read lots of books I don't remember. Played a few fun games.
I've been back at work for about three weeks and they have been trying to kill me with all the things they saved. More about them later though. How was your summer/winter kids?
So, I'm back, sort of. Missed you. How have you been?
I did not in fact drop off the face of the planet, instead I dropped off the landing. Any of you who know me are aware that I have a habit of "adventure".
The files are in the computer? My computer exploded in March. Actually, it was far less exciting than that, there was no even a weak fizzle, let alone pretty flames. The thing just simply refused to turn on one day. None of the fancy computer geeks were able to coax it back to life. No one could wrest information from it's lifeless corpse. I spent the next week in a panic attempting to help my daughter recreate her winning Science Fair project so she could go to state.
I bought a new computer. This one is now already defective in that the CD/DVD drive doesn't work. I have angered the electronics fairies apparently. I hereby offer them my sincerest apologies and would add bribes if I knew the appropriate tender.
May. May 2nd to be exact. My daughter had a fever of 104 (already on medication). Our only shower is in the basement. Daughter is dizzy. "Mom, you go downstairs first". Are you picturing the scene? Yes, that's right. I went down first. Head first. Once I could talk again, really it was only a couple of seconds, I had her sit down and slide the rest of the way down the stairs. "No stop screaming, you don't need to call 911." She got me a chair to lean on, because my foot was already swelling, and I pushed/hopped/cursed my way into the bathroom to get her in the shower for the fever. I was very proud of the fact that I did not vomit.
Several minutes later we both crawled back up the stairs. I called my mother. Yes, ladies and gents, I have a stick shift and there was no way I could drive myself and my daughter to the ER. We got a suite, I in my wheelchair and she in her.... okay I can't make the Night Before Christmas thing work, but anyway. X-rays all around. "She doesn't appear to have pneumonia ma'am". Talk about adding insult to literal injury. Please don't call me ma'am. "You have sprained your foot. Here have this lovely black boot. Yes, I know it hurts a LOT. Just put it up when you get home. We'll give you some nice drugs."
WRONG. I work in pathology. My Medical Director, who is very fond of me, has a wife who is the Head of Radiology. Three days later, ("no I still can't walk boss, and I'm not driving my car so I'll be home for the rest of the week") the wife of the doctor who is my friend called me at home. She said that given her husband's description of the story he'd heard about how I fell she was worried that I might have a commonly undiagnosed injury that was very serious. Could she look at my x-rays, better yet, could she call in a favor and have one of the two best foot surgeons in the state work me in on his day off. I said, "Certainly. Thank you very much. It's far too kind of you." She called me back and informed me that I had an appointment on the Monday (two more days hence) and that I was to "NOT walk on that foot!" I got crutches.
Gimpy goes to the Hospital and is renamed Gumby. There were x-rays, examinations of my fingers of all things accompanied by explanations of "My you are very bendy indeed", calling of residents to "look at the classic, perfect example of this injury" and the scheduling of surgery. Evidently there are ligaments that hold the long bones at the top of your foot together. I managed to rip those off quite neatly. You've gotta be impressed by a doctor that can diagnose your x-rays over. the. phone. Julia is brilliant.
Liz gets screwed. The very nice men and women in the white coats - no not them, although by the end of the ordeal I was wondering if I should call them - took me into ultrasound to put a nerve block in my leg. Those things are wicked cool. I highly recommend it to anyone with bone surgery. They had me sign my name on my leg. I can tell you that that is not exactly a comforting thought. "What do you mean I have to identify the injured limb. You don't know?" and then I was out for the count. I had a lovely hole drilled in several bones and a screw inserted diagonally through them.
This story is getting far too long. Two weeks in a soft cast. Four more weeks in a hard cast. Nearly eight weeks off of work with instructions to "SIT" and do nothing and take all these lovely drugs so you don't die. Work called me nearly every day until they finally realized that my brain was mush. I watched far too much really bad TV and read lots of books I don't remember. Played a few fun games.
I've been back at work for about three weeks and they have been trying to kill me with all the things they saved. More about them later though. How was your summer/winter kids?
So, I'm back, sort of. Missed you. How have you been?