Laid Low

Two Green Iguanas In Small Palm  

I am reduced to watching the iguanas climb up and down the four palms outside our balcony. I cannot make out any pattern to their movements. Sometimes it's large (not huge like we had on our docks) black ones, sometimes medium greens ones, sometimes it is two at once, maybe going in the same direction, or not. Once I saw one eating the flowers off an inflorescence, but those are all eaten now. I think they may go to sleep in the tops of the palms, however since I can't see the top of the tallest palm, I can't confirm that. And if they did, surely I'd see them come down in the morning and up in the evening, but they move up and down at random times. I'm going crazy stuck in this apartment.

Going to Bed?  

Ten days after my crash. Grant stayed home from work last week, ferrying Clara to swimming lessons; doing the shopping and cleaning; cooking labor-intensive, time-consuming, delicious meals; and being at my beck and call. I hobbled around with my walker, slept, watched the Tour de France, and whined. I also decided I rather suffer the consequences of adventures than not do them.

Until I absolutely cannot manage the physical requirements, I want to be out and seeing new things. I want to be in the camper, on the trip, at the new-to-me place. This will take plentiful negotiations between Grant and me, because I'm always sure things will work out. He is more cautious. Probably we prod each other to a better place than if we were on our own. Somehow this seems like progress even though I cannot walk. I can't wait to get back on my bike, only a little more carefully than before. Back to watching for iguanas.

Second Opinion

I have fractured my left rami, i.e., the front of my pelvis (which just goes to show that knowing what rami are means you've been involved in things better left alone or you've been to med school.) By noon on Friday, I knew something was wrong. Grant rode home and took me to Jackson Memorial Hospital. The emergency room personnel were kind, efficient, and respectful. I told my bike crash story over and over as I moved through their process. X-rays confirmed the breaks. What to do? The wait for orthopedics began.

Fortunately, Grant had brought me chicken soup and crackers when we first got to the ER. Now down in the admitting area, I was out of the hard wheelchair, into a comfortable bed, and injected with a big dose of morphine. And getting hungry. He went off for more food before the nearby restaurants closed for the night, returning with a delicious Cuban sandwich. Yum. The ER doctor Miguel was jealous. I offered to share and was delighted when he declined.

While we waited, Dr. Miguel asked me if I had broken my pelvis before because the X-rays indicated old breaks that had begun to heal. No, I would have remembered that. When the ortho doctor finally came (they have to see the worst cases first, and I was thankful I wasn't at the front of the line), she asked me the same thing. Dr. Marshall could see old breaks and nothing else. In any case, rest and time were the treatment. I could have heavier pain killers, which I declined since we have have a stock of opiates from previous surgeries and injuries. Armed with a walker, I went home.

By Sunday, I was weeping continuously and being snappy (euphemism for how horrible I really was) with Grant. I was miserable with pain, couldn't sleep, and convinced that the ER had misdiagnosed. I had not broken my pelvis previously. Something was wrong. And I was getting dehydrated from crying. I decided to call my own ortho doctor and get a second opinion.

Monday morning I called Jackson to send the X-rays to Dr. Wells' office. Not possible even though they are all digital. We would have to go pick up a CD and take it with us. Really? This huge hospital can't transmit information electronically? Another round of weeping and a call to my doctor to make an same-day appointment. Come at 2:15 and be prepared to wait. On our way.

Grant dropped me off and took Clara over to visit with our son. Within 10 minutes I was in the exam room, 10 more minutes and we were reviewing new X-rays. Yes, I'd broken my left rami; yes, they were new breaks; no, we don't know or care why Jackson ortho thought they were old breaks. Plus I likely had a buckle fracture on right side. Treatment was still rest and time. I can do anything I want since the pain will control my movements.

Amazing what a relief. I still hurt like bejezzus, but I no longer am consumed with doom and gloom. I'm staying current on my pain meds (Tylenol, since with all the recent publicity I'm afraid of the side effects of the opiates we've stashed) , watching the Tour de France, and making some peace with the forced immobility I now have. This too shall pass.

That's Going To Be a Bruise

I officially hate riding the nature trail. Flying along it this morning at 11 mph (for me that's flying), I took a sharp turn too fast, froze, and went right where I looked: into the brush besides the trail. Flew off my bike, scraping my elbow and landing on my hip. Dang, that hurt. After a few minutes, I was able to stand and get back on my bike. Our first plan was for me to ride on to Grant's work, then catch the bus back to our apartment.

By the time we rode to Bear Cut bridge, I decided I could ride home, which I did, slowly. Now I'm in bed after failing to get comfortable on our love seat while trying to watch the Tour de France. I can barely walk. Hungry, I limped to the kitchen by hanging on every available surface to support myself. I made a sandwich and limped back to bed to eat it. In my efficiency in moving, I got rid of the walker I had for my knee replacement. I also passed on both of my grandmothers' canes. They were interesting wooden ones but not really safe to use. Next time I get up, I'll get one of the walking sticks out of the closet.

Of course I'm obsessing about having a broken hip. Not going to an emergency room to have it checked, just obsessing. The last time I fell off my bike, I broke my collar bone. I heard it snap when I landed. This time I didn't hear anything, so that is a good sign, isn't it?

Even on Key B  

Breaking my collar bone came under "no good deed goes unpunished". We were riding the Loop Road in the Everglades with some friends. I spotted an aluminum drink can thrown down by the roadside, so I picked it up and bungeed it to my back rack. Got back on my bike and rode on. I hadn't secured one end of the bungee well. It caught in my rear wheel and only stretched so far.  My bike came to a halt, and I tumbled over my handlebars. Fortunately Grant was able to ride to the car and come pick me up. Rather than going to a Miami hospital, we opted to drive to Broward General, stopping for BBQ on the way. Always a good decision to eat before going to an emergency room. Makes waiting less miserable.

Why do people litter? Even though my broken collar bone was my fault, if that soda can hadn't been thrown down in the Everglades, I probably wouldn't have fallen off my bike.  I'd think if you wanted to see nature, you'd be the kind of person who doesn't throw down their soda cans. It also brings up why do people throw down those dental picks?

For a while, I was taking a picture of every dental pick I saw on the ground. In parking lots, at the hospital, in restaurants. What's the deal? You can't be bothered with flossing your teeth in private and throwing the pick in the garbage? The worst was the one on a nature trail. I quite taking pictures because they were depressing and because they were hard to contextualize. I could not resist this one last: at the base of a palm here on Key B. On this over-the-top affluent island with doggie poo trashcans everywhere, and someone has to throw their dental pick on the ground?