On the trip home from Whistler, I nodded off and woke up a
number of times with no perception of how long we’d been on the road. At some
point I realised we’d stopped and I was being wheeled into the hospital. I had
no sense of time, but knew where I was and what had happened. When the paramedic took my BP one final time
in the ambulance, I asked him what the numbers were and he said 140/80. I was alarmed and told him that was way
higher than my usual reading of 117/70.
He was amused that I was lucid enough to know what my BP usually was and
said the high numbers were as a result of the 2 litres of saline that had just
been pumped into my body.
Inside the ER, the admitting nurse wanted my care card.
Lady, I’m wearing a hospital gown, where do you think I’m carrying my care card. I couldn’t understand why the
number wasn’t on the paperwork from Whistler; I was supposedly the one with the
head injury – hello??? I answered all the identity questions, and yes my
husband would be by later with my care card .
They must have believed me because I was wheeled into First Aid room 1 for
examination. First aid? Stick a band-aid
on it and send her home?
While we were waiting, the handsome paramedic commented on
how lucky I was to have strong legs because they’d make the healing process so
much faster. Pfft!! I was thinking how
lucky I was to have had my legs waxed before the handsome paramedic had to keep
moving them around.
A doctor arrived and introduced herself as Dr. Wood. I didn’t think she was old enough to be a
doctor, but she assured me with a smile that yes she was a real doctor. And one more time: no my chest doesn’t hurt,
yes I can turn my head. “You broke your
helmet?” she said in dismay. The
paramedics both turned and smiled at me, I half expected them to high-five me,
but there’d be none of that with the doctor around. Safe in her care, they said good-bye after I
promised I’d be back in the bike park next year, but with a mutual agreement
that we’d rather not meet on my next trip.
We went through the whole routine about a head injury again
and I thought my neck is really going to start hurting if they make me do this
many more times. The doctor asked how I
was doing for pain and with the morphine starting to wear off, she suggested another
hit. Bring it on! She said we’d need to do some blood work and
wait for the orthopaedic surgeon to come and talk to me.
She left, and another nurse came by to do my blood
work. She asked what had happened, and
looked completely appalled when I told her.
“Why would you even go to the downhill park?” she asked. I faded away before my response reached my
lips.
At some point I woke up to find my husband by my
bedside. “Did you give them my care
card”, I asked. “They need to see my care card”. I had no idea how much time
had passed since my accident, all I knew was that I was still thirsty, and
still not allowed a drink of water.
Could I just suck on a wet cotton ball?
When I was awake, I was fully awake, but then I’d just fall asleep again
– for 10 minutes or 2 hours? I had no concept of time.
I woke again to find a new doctor standing beside me. He introduced himself as the orthopaedic guy
and told me I had two pelvic fractures.
They must really think I have a head injury, because they keep telling
me the same facts. Blue
dog tree. Green hope taxi. The fractures
were both stable so didn’t need surgery, he continued. I was to move around on them as much as I
could and my only limitation was pain tolerance. I asked about when I could
start exercising again, and he explained that I couldn’t do any more damage to
the fractures by moving about and that I needed to move to heal the bones. He said goodnight, and I realised it must now
be night.
A new nurse returned with a practicum sidekick. They were preparing to admit me and needed to
start with blood work. Again? I started to wonder who all these people were
taking blood and putting stuff into me.
The practicum nurse was busy sticking another needle into my other arm
because my painkillers now had to be delivered subcutaneously. They said something about how it lasted
longer, but said nothing about how much it would burn going in. Resistance was futile and I surrendered. In a blue hospital gown, pumped full of
saline and morphine, and unable to speak because you’re so thirsty, you don’t
stand much of a chance.
As they walked away I realised I could have asked for water,
because surgery was not in the cards any longer. Bugger!! Fortunately my husband returned soon
after. He’d been home and showered and his first assignment was to get me a
glass of water. I sipped my water from
the straw and pondered my sad predicament.
My daughter and her boyfriend arrived, and she said that she knew it was
bad when my Facebook status was not updated 3 hours after her father first told
her I’d been hurt. I assured her I had
spent many hours thinking about the first post accident status. I settled for something about a broken helmet
being badass, but a broken pelvis being lame.
I was transported upstairs to my ward by a cranky porter who barely said hello. It occurred to
me that I had encountered about 20 medical personnel over the course of the
day, and she was the first cranky one.
The nurses upstairs in the ward made up for it by doing everything they
possibly could to make me comfortable.
My dear sweet husband had zipped home after we knew I was being admitted
to bring me some personal essentials: teddy bear, phone and toothbrush. I had all I needed, and with another shot of
morphine, I settled in for the night.
We’ll skip the details about waking up to the old fellow in
the bed across from me needing a diaper change in the middle of the night, and
the old Scottish lady beside me shouting, “Who’s there? Is something going on?
What’s happening?” Once they were all
settled down again, I lay there with my back aching from having been flat on my
back for the past 12 hours and the complete inability to toss or turn.
It’s bizarre when you don’t remember how to move your body.
I tried to manually lift my leg so I could turn but it hurt too much. I reached for the bed rails and tried to pull
myself over, but it hurt too much. I tried to lean towards the other side and
roll a little to the left to get off my back, but you can’t lie on your left
side when your pelvis is fractured on that side. It was a miserable night, but
I must have dosed off because I was woken by the nurse around 6am for another
burning shot of subcutaneous morphine.
And then, at last, I slept. It
was probably for only 2 hours but I slept soundly and at last, restfully.
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