-Lots on my mind as I near Friday's appointment in Wichita with Dr. Chan. In less than 36 hours, I'll be listening to him "rendering his verdict" as to whether or not my arm has healed sufficiently enough to be put into the last cast. Oh how I am wishing for the short and sleek version of a cast, you know, something that shows a whole lot more elbow! While I'm at it, I'm going to "opt" for a nice pink color...something akin to the carnation pink crayon in a box of 24 crayolas. With luck, it will be and I'll be on my last 2 weeks of wearing what has become a real pain in the behind (and arm).
It has taken the better part of the 5 weeks that have passed since my August 4th accident, for me to fully realize and accept just how badly I was injured. I sometimes prefer to live in the "land of denial" rather than the real world. I was sure that I'd just mend quickly and go back to life as usual. That was working pretty well for me until a bill from Promise Regional made it to my mailbox several days ago. What I read on that bill got me to thinking of just how far I've had to come to get to where I am this day. And by the way, that "awakening" had nothing to do with the tremendous cost.....rather, it had to do with one phrase on the bill---trauma level.
That bill, dated 8-4-2011 was for my original visit to the ER, the leading part of this journey in the life of Peggy Miller. From the initial time of the crash, to my having to reach down and scoop up my arm from the ground, to stumbling to my truck and the horrified look on my son Grahame's face as he sped me off to the hospital, all gave me the "oh-oh" feeling that something had gone so terribly wrong.
Some of it is a "blur" but MOST of it is pretty vividly implanted in my memory of the morning. I'll never forget the looks on the faces of the ER staff as they came into where I was laying on the stretcher. They would glance ever so briefly at my left arm and quickly turn their heads away. I read the expressions on their faces and the message I saw told me that I must look pretty bad!
I feel especially sorry for those 2 poor x-ray technicians who had the "really fun" task of taking the pictures of "old lefty". I'm sure I wasn't using my "happy voice" and I really should find those two young ladies to apologize for my over usage of a certain word that I often find myself uttering while in extreme pain. I used enough expletives to make a "seasoned" sailor turn red in the face that day. I don't take pride in the way I communicated my feelings to them while they were attempting what turned out to be 6 x-rays at a cost of $1,400. But with manipulating an arm that was now blown to smithereens, I guess it was to be expected! It took forever and I thought they had laid a towel over my face so I wouldn't have to see it. I now realize that what I thought was a towel really was one of their lab coats and they were still wearing it. They had to hold me down so they could get the x-rays. My sincere apologies ladies! That's usually not my style. :)
My condition was serious enough that within 30 minutes of arriving my clothing had been cut off of me, all x-rays were taken, blood drawn with lab results back, and enough morphine given to at least keep me relatively quiet. The surgeon had arrived and I could hear the ER doctor on the phone relaying the needed information to the surgery area. Had it not been for the fact that I had eaten a McDonald's Egg McMuffin an hour earlier, emergency surgery would have been immediately performed. As it was, I had to wait until noon.
And the bottom line is-that's the first time ANYONE ever moved me through the ER in that speedy of a fashion. Even though I was in bad shape that day and probably about the worst 55-year old patient they'd ever dealt with, that whole staff of people provided me the best care imaginable. They definitely earned my respect and admiration that morning and I can't say that has always been the case. Previous ER experiences were not always the best and I stand at the top of the list of those who complain about "what's taking so long?" But to the lst shift crew at Promise Regional Medical Center working on that Thursday morning, I commend you!
Every day I feel stronger, every day more determined to return to normal. And I believe that I will. With "eyes wide open", I have now come to accept that in all probability my bike won't hit the streets again until March of 2012. You know, I'm ok with that. And what ever the good doctor tells me to do tomorrow, whatever "Kim, the taskmaster" advises, I intend to do. Peggy Miller is still more determined than she is afraid.
Have the best Thursday you can possibly have!
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