Ribs

The apartment complex that I live at is very old and the steps are worn down and are as smooth as a baby’s butt. The last Thursday in November, we had a rain storm, and the steps were slicker then glass. I was simply running down the stairs in my thongs (OK, GET THAT VISUAL OUT OF YOUR HEAD! I KNOW THAT WAS FRIGHTENING!) a.k.a “flip-flops”, simply taking out the rubbish and checking on my laundry, being the Susie Homemaker that I am, before heading to bed, when I got to the 3rd to last step and my feet slipped from underneath and I flew up into the air and landed right on my ribs onto the last step. I could not get up. I could not move. I could not breathe, for what seemed an eternity. Finally, I dragged myself upstairs, clutching my back in excruciating pain. I tried to lie down, but, it hurt too much. I took some over the counter pain meds and waited for the pain to subside, but, it never did. So, I had to face it, I knew something was wrong. But, how to get to hospital? (by the way, you don't say: "the hospital", it is simply referred to as "hospital"). So, how to get to hospital? I don't know how to dial for the ambo! (ambo is how you say ambulance!) then, a vague recollection of reading somewhere, on some sign that emergency services could be reached by dialling 000. After much sobbing, wailing and gnashing of teeth, I finally managed to get an ambo dispatched to the house.




I spent the next several hours in the ER waiting room amusing myself by watching a crazy lady on crutches storming around the waiting room (as best as one can storm about on crutches) cursing at the top of her lungs like a drunken sailor about how she had been waiting there for hours, for days! (I feel your pain, sister!), watching the police escort a guy in with handcuffs who was crying and wailing with promises that he would never do it again, if they would just let him go and so forth, when, at about 2 or 3 o’clock in the morning, the doctor FINALLY got around to looking at my x-rays, and realized that, hey, I really was injured, and wasn't, as Roy so often use to love to say "another drug seeking dirt ball", they whisked me off into the ward, where I spent the next SIX days. Silly me, I thought I would only be in hospital for a brief stint, not an extended stay. So, I brought nothing with me, not clean clothes, no books, no telephone calling card. Turns out, I had TWO broken ribs and a lacerated liver. OUCH!



On the bright side, the entire time I was there, I was hopped up on morphine!!! Weeeeeeee……!!!!! Straight from the machine into my arm with an IV. After spending several days this way, I affectionately named my machine “Peachy”. As in, “How are you doing??” “just Peachy”. Because of the laceration in my liver, I was not permitted to even take a pee without assistance. Not to worry though, life is grand when you have pumped up with morphine!

I would spend the entire day just snoozing…earplugs in my ears, a pair of clean knickers (underwear) over my eyes. One day, however, the pain medicine “team”, in their infinite wisdom, decided to adjust my pain medicine and add something new to the mix. Needless to say, it did NOT go over well. As soon as it coursed through my veins, my eyes popped open, my heart started pounding wildly! I threw the knickers off my eyes, I took the earplugs out of my ears and ripped the oxygen out of my nose, and pulled off my elastic tights. I had to get out of there! I stormed down the hall, towards the elevator, in my hospital gown, dragging Peachy behind me. The nurses were chasing after me “Renee! Ms Palmer! What are you doing? Where are you going??” I informed them under no uncertain terms, that I was leaving. I was going home! Needless to say, this plan was not received with great enthusiasm. Just the opposite. So, with my grand escape plot was foiled and I was escorted back to bed, where the pain team was hastily summoned to readjust my meds.

After a few more days of misery, I was released from my prison cell and permitted to return home. As I had no clean clothes, I marched outside in my hospital gown and waited in the taxi queue. I am sure there is a lesson or two to be learned from this entire, miserable experience, although I have yet to figure out what it is. However, one tip that I did learn is, that if you wait for a taxi in long taxi queue, in your hospital gown, you will immediately be moved to the front of the line. You may want to try this sometime when you are in a hurry.

Ah, home sweet home! I was so overjoyed to be there, that I did not let anything rain on my parade. Not the fact that the property manager STILL had not arranged to get my broken window fixed, (let’s see, it’s been HOW many months now? Three???) and that pesky possum had figured out how to get passed the cardboard barrier that I had taped up before my most unfortunate incident and had proceed to have a party with some other possums in my bathroom. Again. Ah, welcome home, home sweet home!!!