OK. So I'm about to write about something highly embarrassing, actually I think it is in the
humiliating area. If you really don't want to have TOO much info don't read on. You have been
I have decided to write about one of the most human actions that we ALL have done hundreds if
not thousands of times in our life time and yet I am horribly shamed that I did. It wasn't
even my fault, not really . . .
I can't remember the dream only that I couldn't wake up and that I was desperately trying to. I
have the impression of being chained, tied up and unable to move but that is all I can remember.
I awake. Oh SHIT. No . . . couldn't be . . . OMG! I did.
I actually pissed the bed.
For crying out loud I'm 28 years old, how the hell does that happen?
I'm not drunk, no drugs . . . hmm I did take a Legatrin but that was hours ago . . .
Damn it! EWWWW
Do I wake up my hubby?
ughhh no I can't deal with him right now
grrrr great. I'm standing here in the middle of the hall in just a tee shirt hobbling through on
crutches, highly agitated and one of my sons is needing something.
I grouch something like - just a minute!
I throw something on and go back to see what's wrong.
He's had a nightmare and wants the bathroom light left on.
Poor kid all of this is so rough on him, he's such a sensitive little man.
I look at the clock 5: 36 a.m.
Great, well I'd make too much noise going down the stairs (crutches do not slide quietly down
So what is my great answer to the don't wanna wake the hubby, can't go downstairs, too early to
do anything and nothing else to do problem? (couldn't even take a bath cus once again it'd wake
the whole house) Grab 2 large bath towels. EWWWWWW!
Yup you guessed it I did, I just put two towels down and went right back to sleep.
"You have to get up too."
Ughhh open eyes and look at the clock.
"You can just stay asleep. I'll take the kids to school."
Uggghhh that means he's staying home again.
Ok thanks. (Fake smile)
11: 23 A.M.
Ok I have killed most of the morning quite successfully, I guess I should get out of bed now.
Today I get my cast off. I'm nervous and excited. I've had nightmares about this day and yet all of
my waking time I've been waiting fervently for it. I will no doubt write more later.
The nurse deftly and quickly cuts off my cast, as he does, we chat about how excited I must be to
be getting it off and how I might need a brace for a while. He finally pries it off, revealing what
I least expected. I had expected my leg to be extraordinarily skinny, the skin really scaley and
maybe a bit beat up looking. What I had not expected to see was it still swollen 2-3 times the size
of my other leg, horribly crooked (there's at least a 40-degree difference from the direction my
knee points to the direction my foot is) and instead of being pale it was as dark or darker then my
good leg. The nurse who had been joking and laughing suddenly excuses himself in a rush and
doesn't come back for at least 30 minutes. In the meantime, I had some fun playing with my leg
out of the cast. I move my ankle as much as possible, feels good to be able to even if I can only
slightly move it because the muscles are so weak. I bend my knee some, noting that even though
my ankle didn't move my leg bent somewhat in the middle. At this point I get a bit hysterical in
a fun way. I'm laughing as I watch in horror as I realize that the last 3 months has not been hardly
long enough to mend my broken leg. Eventually the doctor wanders in and for the first time since
I met him in the ER isn't sugar coating what he tells me.
"Well it's going to be anywhere from nine months to a year that you'll have either a cast or brace
on, you know." He says nonchalantly, as if I was supposed to have known this. How could I
have? He had kept telling me it was healing just fine and had never even suggested any time
frame different then the three months he had told me originally, until now that is. I slowly begin
to digest what he's saying to me.
Heaven oh glorious heaven. Debbie, the x-ray technician takes pity on me and for the first time
since before Mother's Day washes my left leg for me. Then the nurse puts on the new cast, a very
painful process as he is trying to change the position of my foot to better align the bones for
healing properly. My husband throughout the entire visit is of course doing what he always does,
talking about himself and how many times he's been through traumatic experiences like this,
making sure to point out each wound to anyone who'll listen. He did let me squeeze his fingers as
a release of pain (kept me from digging my nails into my palm cus I know I would have), again all
the while telling me how none of this hurts him a bit and I can squeeze harder if I'd like. (I really
wanted to slap him but I restrained myself nicely I thought.)
The first comment out of my mother in laws mouth to me was, "So you'll be sticking around for
another nine months to a year huh?"
I stuck to a neutral comment, "We'll see what happens."
The rest of the night I spend trying to kill the pain in my leg, and trying to stay calm while coping
with the reality that my plans are going to have to change yet again. Time for plan . . . I've lost
count of how many plans have gone horribly awry.
What am I doing wrong is what I want to know? Is life just taunting me for being silly in thinking
I can change it my way? Or is there some point I'm missing here?