Tuesday, February 28, 2006

Tripping the light fantastic

Or, as may be the case: Tripping.

Fantastic...

A certain someone, who shall remain nameless to protect the few remaining shreds of her tattered dignity, decided yesterday afternoon that it would be a good idea to fall down the last couple of steps at church and damage her foot. To make the story just a tad bit more exciting, she was holding a flock of five flamingos at the time. Fortunately, the flamingos were of the plastic variety and more fortunately, she managed to avoid being gored by their ten, flailing, pointed, metal legs. (We decided not to tell any of the medical personnel that come later in this story about the flamingos for fear of having her admitted to the psych ward) The pastor, being the astute, perceptive guy that he is came down the stairs to investigate the possibility that all that plastic clattery noise may have been an indicator that something out of the ordinary had happened.

“Did you fall down?” he asked, insightfully.

I’m not sure of the exact reply, but I have been informed that it was not the first thing that popped into her head – “No, I always lay on the floor at the bottom of the stairs.”

“Are you ok?” was the next question. Again, I’m not sure of the exact reply, but I have been assured that the pastor was not subjected to any new words, or any new applications of old words for that matter.

A chair was brought which allowed our heroine to reclaim some of her dignity.

Now, you have to know our pastor to really appreciate how uncomfortable he was at this particular moment. He’s a super-nice guy, and I believe he has a sensitive and caring nature. He’s also very shy and awkward in social interactions. The fact that he’s a preacher says something about God’s use of the most peculiar tools to accomplish His will. (see Moses, Gideon, Jacob, Paul, etc.) He can preach up a storm, though, so it’s not as if he’s completely mismatched to the job.

Anyway, Brother Scott gets all fidgety and nervous around people to begin with and being the ‘first-responder’ was obviously compounding his distress.

“I’ll go put these in the car for you,” he said as he gathered up the wayward flock. Upon the successful completion of that task, he then went back upstairs. To return in a few minutes with the minister of education/administration in tow. Danny is everything Scott is not and was very solicitous, urging the use of various bandages and perhaps the services of trained medical personnel. But our heroine, herself feeling somewhat awkward to be the center of attention, not to mention embarrassment as to WHY she was the center of attention, insisted on just going home.

Which she did.

And then she called me.

“Let me get things squared-away here and I’ll come home and check on you.” She insisted that it wasn’t necessary. She could pick up the Youngest Aardvark Child from school. No reason to change my schedule. Etc, etc, etc.

I got things squared-away and went home. Yep. That foot’s hurt all right. If you missed the swelling, the big purple patch still gave it away.

Off to school to pick up the YAC, then back home to drop her off and pick up She Who Shall Not Be Named and head to the ER. Fortunately, Monday is one of your off-days for ER types, so things were not backed up for hours. Filled out the preliminary paperwork. Offered driver’s license and insurance information which was handed back with the comment that it wasn’t needed now. Waited for about 15 minutes until the triage nurse called.

“Do you need a wheelchair?” she asked.

“Yes, that would be best,” I said.

“Ok, well come across the hall to my office and we’ll get you one.”

!!!

???

!!!

So, we limped across the hall and answered some more questions and then waited while a wheelchair was procured.

Back across the hall to wait some more then it’s off to have pictures taken. Wallets and some 5 X 7s mostly. Then it’s back to waiting. Get called back up to the window to sign some forms and then be asked for the driver’s license and insurance info. Wait for a few more minutes and then it’s back to the ER.

Nice nurse and doctor types provide typically good care.

Yep. It’s broken. Just a chip, but that counts. And of course, the X-rays don’t tell them if there’s any muscle or ligament damage. A trip to the orthopedist later in the week will have to assess that.

Splint.

Home.

All in all a pretty speedy trip to the ER. Only three hours door-to-door.

A certain husband-type then made a trip to Walgreens for pharmaceuticals and to Chick-fil-A for comestibles and then it was back home for the ever-popular meal of chicken, fries and hydrocodone. Mmmm, mmmmHHH!!!

We have an appointment later this afternoon with the regular doctor so we can get a referral to an orthopedist later this week.

Stay tuned for breaking news. (Heh. Breaking…)

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