Seriously? A Wheelchair?!

I hate feeling stupid. I hate feeling helpless. Being told to sit in a wheelchair and rolled out to my car made me feel all of the above.

But that’s the punchline to this particular joke. I’ll start over.

Friday I dropped my car off at the mechanic for inspection. For those of you not living in Pennsylvania, we here in the Keystone State have our cars inspected at private garages. No quick drive-through inspection station like New Jersey. No siree, it’s either drop the car off and come back or sit there for a couple of hours.

Luckily, my mechanic, who I trust and really like, is about 0.3 miles from my front door so it’s easy to drop the car off, walk home and walk back the next day to get it. At least it should be easy.

This Friday I was walking home in the sultry evening air around 10:30. I stepped neatly onto a lawn next to the road and let a car pass by.

Said lawn was sloped. Said narrator was wearing sandals with absolutely no gripping power in the soles. Said narrator doesn’t remember what happened between starting to step back on to the road and laying in the middle of the road, cell phone about 2 feet behind her and an excruciating amount of pain coming from her right foot.

I walked the remaining 0.2 miles back to my house (yes, it was uphill) sobbing and swearing. Once inside, I washed off the blood from both feet (apparently my left big toe thought by skidding across macadam it could prevent the fall – it was wrong).

I spent the rest of the weekend with my foot elevated and either wrapped with an Ace bandage from the 1980s (thanks, Dad) or with a towel and a bag of frozen corn (yes, it was organic).

Monday I went to work, hardly limping but enjoying the excuse to wear sneakers over my bandage. My foot was still swollen though and had/has a really gross looking bruise along the outside (no, you’re not getting a photo). And I noticed swelling and a twinge of pain around my toes.

So off to the doctor I went where I ended up seeing an NP after sitting for about 45 minutes in the exam room. Sigh. The NP, who was very nice, couldn’t understand why I wasn’t in more pain. She ordered X-rays for Tuesday morning and insisted I not bear any weight on my right foot. I told her I had driven to the appointment and she was surprised. And then insisted on a wheelchair to take me back to my car!

A wheelchair! Seriously?!

I have almost a full range of motion in the ankle and would rank the pain at about a 3 or 4. Sure, my foot looks a little mottled and swollen, but I can walk. And yet … I have a script for X-rays (to check for fractures in the ankle where the ligament meets the bone and in the 3rd-5th metatarsal), one for an air splint pending the X-ray results, a referral to an orthopedic group for possible follow-up care/rehab and a note not to go to work tomorrow.

The plan tomorrow is for my sister (who’s my hero) to drive me to the hospital for the X-ray and then to hang out at home until the NP gets the X-ray results and calls back to let me know what the rest of the plan is. Do I need crutches? Will I be able to go into work at all? Can I work from home? Do I need to see an orthopedist? And what about Naomi? Stay tuned….


6 thoughts on “Seriously? A Wheelchair?!

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