So, I have been quiet. Honestly, I haven’t felt much like writing. Work is hectic; fuses are slightly shorter than usual all round and, I’ve been preoccupied with both good/fun-, and not-so-good/fun things.
A friend introduced me to a great guy, Charlie, with whom I’ve been chatting for quite a while already. To get to know each other better, we’re doing the “50 I’s about Me” challenge, that I did on this very blog eons ago. It’s fun to see how some of my answers haven’t changed at all while others have done a complete one eighty.
We haven’t been doing them in the same order as the original list. Yesterday’s “I” was meant to be “I fear”, but I just couldn’t face it. You see, I realized yesterday, that more than my fear of dying by drowning or smoke inhalation, I fear being an orphan. Even as I type the words, bile rises in my throat and my vision becomes cloudy. Ironically, in a previous conversation, Charlie said that fear is a learned emotion. When we’re born all we fear is loud noises; everything else we fear is imprinted on us.
I’m sure you’re wondering Where the hell is she going with this? So, I’ll get to it:
Neither my mom nor I knew The Toppie had decided to take the garbage out early yesterday morning. All we heard was a loud “Ooohhhh”, followed by a blunt grunt and then an even louder, “Owww!!” I bolted down the wet stairs to find him at the bottom, bleeding, shaky and unable to stand. He had a gash above his right eye, a long cut on his arm, so deep that the bone was visible and instant bruising on his legs and thighs. My first aid training flew right out the window. I began to shake as adrenalin began to course through my veins. All I knew was he would need stitches and that we had to stop the bleeding. Mom gave me a towel which I wrapped around his arm before loading him into the car and driving like Lewis Hamilton to the local state hospital, all the time quietly reciting, Please God, don’t let him die. Please!
Sitting in the cold waiting room, my poor dad was rocking backwards and forwards with pain. I have never seen him so vulnerable. It just made me even more aware of how mortal he and my mom are and just how much I’m not ready to have God take either of them away. He started to doze off and I panicked thinking he may have a concussion, so when a nurse came to call another patient (of about twenty sitting in the waiting room), I walked up asking how long the wait would be, given that he was now drifting in and out of consciousness. It was then that the brain fog cleared and I remembered the big words I’d learned in first aid training, cranial contusion and bleeding laceration to right forearm with suspected fracture. Bless the nurse, who told me to immediately bring him in. We waited a long time for help, but once the nurses got busy, they were efficient and professional. The doctor saw him, and said that X-rays would be required, because she too suspected a broken arm. The X-rays took a long time because the radiographers (in both state and private hospitals) don’t work on weekends. In the instance of the former, the hospital waits until there are at least five patients requiring X-rays before they ask the radiographer to come in. If there aren’t a time of at least two hours must elapse. The nurses in the meantime disinfected the wound on his arm, which had him flinching and then applied strips to close the gaping hole – he couldn’t have sutures because his skin is too thin and gave him a shot of morphine for the pain.
It was frustrating to have to wait, but Aunty Carol, Uncle Barry and Cousin Lola popped by with a bite to eat, a flask of coffee and two magazines. It helped to pass the time until the radiographer arrived. The process of the X-rays was quick-sticks.
The verdict – broken ulna, less than two thirds, which thankfully means that no surgery is required.
Not The Toppie’s X-ray – just a Google one for example.
The doctor applied a temporary cast (because the arm my still swell) and told him to come back on Friday, for it to be removed, the wound to be cleaned and a proper cast to be applied.
It was a harrowing six hour ordeal that left The Toppie broken and bruised, The Bean emotionally frazzled and Yours Truly on an emotional rollercoaster.
I’m scared that it might happen again, and that if it does, it won’t be just a broken arm. I’m furious because so many people knew where my parents were when the going was good, but 95% of them have disappeared into the woodwork now that it isn’t the case anymore. I’m tired of the pretenders; exhausted in fact. I’m willing to wager that had we called for help, only a handful of people would have come to our rescue. I’m relieved that it was only a few bruises, a bashed head and a broken arm. I am hopeful that everything will be okay in the end. As Cousin Lola said yesterday, ”This too shall pass” and it will. My mantra right now is that EVERYTHING that is happening now is for my ULTIMATE GOOD, even if it doesn’t seem like it at the time.
Reflections of a Misfit 