I've Fallen and I Can't Get Up!

Sigh...I don't even know where to start with this post.  You might want to go to the bathroom first (make sure you wash your hands) and grab a snack.  It's gonna be a long one...

One week ago I was on Cloud 9.  I had just gotten home from the Indiana State Fair where I got to see my lover boy, Keith Urban, in concert. 

 It goes without saying - but I'll say it anyway - he put on one heck of a show.  Not only that, he came down into the audience during the final song of the show and strolled over right to where we were seated.  Okay, not exactly where we were, but we were only a short stampede away where I snapped the following:

Oh, I do love him so.

As if that wasn't enough to make my month, Tom's friend - the Infamous Tara from Minneapolis - was visiting.  We pretty much love Tara and want her and Tom to become a real couple.

We were going to spend the day having fun on the boat on Sunday with those two and their friends Josh and Lindsay.  We were finally going to go out on Cagles Mill Lake, which had not been accessible all of last year due to flooding.   It WAS a fun day until tragedy struck.  After a wild and crazy tubing experience, I was attempting to get back in the boat.  STUPIDLY, I stepped onto the diving platform with my left foot and while trying to maintain my balance, the tube went out from under my right foot.  This resulted in me doing the splits, something I have NEVER done in my 46 years on this planet.  I felt a pop in my leg, and that's when my life went straight to hell in a handbasket.  I somehow managed to get up the ladder and haul myself onto the boat.  It hurt but wasn't unbearable at that point, so we stayed out on the lake for another hour.  By the time we made the hour-long trip home, the pain was unbearable.  I was shuffling up the sidewalk into the house, and the six-inch porch step was what did me in.  When I made that step, it felt like someone had rammed an electric cattle prod in my leg.  At this point, I started crying.  I couldn't get back to the car, and I couldn't get in the house.  I had to lay across Tom's back and he carried me into the house and deposited me on the couch.   We determined a trip to the ER was in order, but the big problem was how to get me out to the car.  I was immobilized by pain every time I moved my leg.  Lily suggested we call an ambulance, but John poo-poo'd that idea because "ambulance rides are expensive".  After listening to him and Tom come up with all sorts of convoluted means of transport (i.e. me laying on a blanket and four people grabbing a corner, OR me holding onto the blanket and he and Tom dragging it to the car - I kid you not), Lily stood up and proclaimed SHE was calling an ambulance.  Go Lily.  I may have been crying again at this point, because John went over and made the call.  He told the dispatch operator that it was NOT an emergency but that we did need transport to the ER.  She assured him help would arrive silently and inconspicuously.  Right.  Apparently, some self-centered a-holes had the nerve to have an emergency right before mine, and the ambulance from the station nearest our home was already out on a run.  Therefore, they sent this with about five firefighters:

Very inconspicuous.

I'd like to mention here that when Robin learned there would be paramedics coming to the house, she ran and changed clothes.  

They came in and did a quick physical assessment while we waited for the northside station ambulance to show up.   Understandably, my blood pressure was through the roof, but just having PROFESSIONALS show up to assist me made me feel much better.   Well, that and Tara running around snapping pictures.  I'm fairly certain the paramedics thought we were crazy.

We went to Clarian West ER, where the nurses, Jenn and Sam, were super duper nice.  Dr. Brummett didn't look old enough to buy alcohol much less dispense narcotics, but I didn't let that stop me from accepting her delightful cocktail of Fentanyl and Toradol.  There wasn't much they could do for me after that.  Once my blood pressure was back to normal, they wrapped my leg, gave me a couple of scripts, crutches, a referral to an ortho doc, and sent me on my way.

On Thursday, I was able to see Dr. Ripley P. Worman (say this in your best Thurston P. Howell voice).  He was confident this was a hamstring strain with no significant damage and recommended I start physical therapy as soon as possible, which luckily was on Friday.  I was given a series of exercises to do and a deep tissue massage on the back of my right thigh.  After I did my exercises at home Friday evening, I asked John, the nurse, to do the massage for me.  John, the nurse, freaked out when he saw the bruising on my inner thigh.   I really want to show you the bruise, but I couldn't quite crop the picture enough to show you the extent of the damage and still maintain some dignity.  Just know this:  it's ugly.

So, just for fun, here's a bonus a picture of one of the groups of nosey neighbors who came out to watch the excitement:

I've pretty much been confined to bed this past week because it hurts like a you-know-what whenever I stand up and gravity pulls on my leg.  I've taken a total of one shower, but I have been brushing my teeth (almost daily).  I'm what the kids call a "hot mess"...

I was going to post a video that was making the rounds sometime ago, Why Seniors Shouldn't Go Boating, but after viewing it again, it's not that funny.  My sense of humor must be sitting on the bottom of Cagles Mill Lake.