So where have I been, you ask. Good question. I have been here, or at least part of me. Back on December 7th, when I was just getting into full swing, I went out for my morning walk and ended up in the hospital.
So I have to tell you the story, before I get on with the rest of my blog, so you will understand why it has taken me so long to get around to this.
It was a beautiful, dark December morning, at 6:30. Being myself, I figured I could get in a good walk before I started work, then do my work, then more Christmas shopping, then off to the nursing home, then…. More stuff, that was not to be.
Our dear little Piper, all 75 pounds of her, spooked all of a sudden, running in front of me and tripping me. I went down face first, hitting the dumpster with my head, cutting my cheek and eye. But we shall not stop there, nooo, we must do this right.
The leash was wrapped around my left wrist; the dog ran right, launching me through the air. And, when I collided with the pavement, out popped my shoulder from the socket. Thank the Lord, I hit my head first, so I was at least stunned.
But I was lying in the middle of the street, in the path of the cars that would soon be leaving for work, wearing black clothes on black pavement. I was sure I would soon be a speed bump, so I tried getting up. However, my left arm didn’t want to come with me, it was just laying there, above my head, sort of disconnected, like a toy dolls arm that gets ripped off.
What do you do when there is no one around and you get in a Pickle? You cry to Jesus. I just said a quick prayer, something akin to “Jesus, you are the only one can get me out of this mess.” and then I cried out for help.
The maintenance men at our complex don’t come in until 8:00 or so in the morning, so I figured maybe someone in a nearby apartment would hear me. But I was so wrong. The Lord had this one planned out. One of the maintenance men had just pulled up to get an early start. He ran over, said “Oh, my”, dialed 911 and caught my dog. Then he went down to our apartment, woke my daughter and delivered Piper to her.
The ambulance arrived, and the paramedics were having a dickens of a time trying to figure out how they would get my arm and me into the ambulance. It might have been easier for them had it been totally ripped off. But they rigged up a couple of boards, one for me, one for my arm, and off we went.
Remember I said that I think the Lord had this one planned? Well, if the maintenance man was not enough evidence, then the paramedic who rode with me was. I just looked at him and asked him if he knew Jesus, and he said, “I sure do.” And right then and there, he moved up by my head, held my hand and prayed for me and for my family.
It was a short ride, probably because of the morphine he gave me, and the next couple of days were a jumble of putting the arm back where it belonged, stitching up my face, throwing up blood, because of course, I ruptured something inside when I hit, and broke my ribs, front and back. A couple of days there, and I got to go home, where the true agony would begin.
I discovered that when you injure an arm, you can’t sleep. Oh, I could fall asleep with a pain pill, and get all of 15 minutes of sleep, but if you added that up over the course of 24 hours, I was getting a couple of hours of sleep a night.
This incident changed a lot in my life besides sleep. I used to love to watch America’s funniest home videos and Dumbest stuff on wheels. My daughter even commented that she wish someone who saw my accident happen had recorded it, because she was sure it was hilarious to watch. But something inside me gets a little sick now when I see a skateboarder go head first on the concrete or a car drive through a store front. It’s something like sympathy, with a little nausea thrown in. I started watching “ the Doctors” now.
So here, at home is where I still am. If you were wondering. My arm still doesn’t cooperate with me, in spite of repeated physical therapy sessions commandeered by a physical therapist that puts an army general to shame. However, I am able to type now. I just FORCE my arm and hand to do my bidding. I can get along fine if I just lift my hand up and put in the proper place. And occasionally the fingers on that hand get confused so I am thankful for spell check, even if it doesn’t recognize my name, and wants me to be “Sustained”. Which I am. Clearly sustained by Jesus.
Now that you have the whole story, I can get on with the real thing of writing. All that time, moving around, but not doing anything left lots going on inside my head. I have lots to get caught up on. Thank you all for being so patient with me!
So I have to tell you the story, before I get on with the rest of my blog, so you will understand why it has taken me so long to get around to this.
It was a beautiful, dark December morning, at 6:30. Being myself, I figured I could get in a good walk before I started work, then do my work, then more Christmas shopping, then off to the nursing home, then…. More stuff, that was not to be.
Our dear little Piper, all 75 pounds of her, spooked all of a sudden, running in front of me and tripping me. I went down face first, hitting the dumpster with my head, cutting my cheek and eye. But we shall not stop there, nooo, we must do this right.
The leash was wrapped around my left wrist; the dog ran right, launching me through the air. And, when I collided with the pavement, out popped my shoulder from the socket. Thank the Lord, I hit my head first, so I was at least stunned.
But I was lying in the middle of the street, in the path of the cars that would soon be leaving for work, wearing black clothes on black pavement. I was sure I would soon be a speed bump, so I tried getting up. However, my left arm didn’t want to come with me, it was just laying there, above my head, sort of disconnected, like a toy dolls arm that gets ripped off.
What do you do when there is no one around and you get in a Pickle? You cry to Jesus. I just said a quick prayer, something akin to “Jesus, you are the only one can get me out of this mess.” and then I cried out for help.
The maintenance men at our complex don’t come in until 8:00 or so in the morning, so I figured maybe someone in a nearby apartment would hear me. But I was so wrong. The Lord had this one planned out. One of the maintenance men had just pulled up to get an early start. He ran over, said “Oh, my”, dialed 911 and caught my dog. Then he went down to our apartment, woke my daughter and delivered Piper to her.
The ambulance arrived, and the paramedics were having a dickens of a time trying to figure out how they would get my arm and me into the ambulance. It might have been easier for them had it been totally ripped off. But they rigged up a couple of boards, one for me, one for my arm, and off we went.
Remember I said that I think the Lord had this one planned? Well, if the maintenance man was not enough evidence, then the paramedic who rode with me was. I just looked at him and asked him if he knew Jesus, and he said, “I sure do.” And right then and there, he moved up by my head, held my hand and prayed for me and for my family.
It was a short ride, probably because of the morphine he gave me, and the next couple of days were a jumble of putting the arm back where it belonged, stitching up my face, throwing up blood, because of course, I ruptured something inside when I hit, and broke my ribs, front and back. A couple of days there, and I got to go home, where the true agony would begin.
I discovered that when you injure an arm, you can’t sleep. Oh, I could fall asleep with a pain pill, and get all of 15 minutes of sleep, but if you added that up over the course of 24 hours, I was getting a couple of hours of sleep a night.
This incident changed a lot in my life besides sleep. I used to love to watch America’s funniest home videos and Dumbest stuff on wheels. My daughter even commented that she wish someone who saw my accident happen had recorded it, because she was sure it was hilarious to watch. But something inside me gets a little sick now when I see a skateboarder go head first on the concrete or a car drive through a store front. It’s something like sympathy, with a little nausea thrown in. I started watching “ the Doctors” now.
So here, at home is where I still am. If you were wondering. My arm still doesn’t cooperate with me, in spite of repeated physical therapy sessions commandeered by a physical therapist that puts an army general to shame. However, I am able to type now. I just FORCE my arm and hand to do my bidding. I can get along fine if I just lift my hand up and put in the proper place. And occasionally the fingers on that hand get confused so I am thankful for spell check, even if it doesn’t recognize my name, and wants me to be “Sustained”. Which I am. Clearly sustained by Jesus.
Now that you have the whole story, I can get on with the real thing of writing. All that time, moving around, but not doing anything left lots going on inside my head. I have lots to get caught up on. Thank you all for being so patient with me!
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