“Sticks and stones may break my bones,
but words will never hurt me”
Unfortunately, this little ditty has relevance to my week:
1. Words will never hurt me… Uhm..no…and the doctors, nurses and surrounding patients at Lexington Medical Center would also disagree. I know this because my grandmother, Rebecca, is being “released” this morning from the hospital. It turns out that renal failure is a condition that can be treated at home with a couple of six packs of Mountain Dew. Who knew?!? It’s either a medical breakthrough or Rebecca has worn the doctors down past the point of caring. From personal experience, I would choose the latter as a more likely option, but you never know….there may be some medicinal effects of Mountain Dew worth investigating?!? About a year ago, Rebecca switched from a diet of Boost and Ensure to one solely consisting of a six-pack of Mountain Dew per day. She has rallied ever since. I’m just saying….?!?
2. Sticks and stones may break your bones…Now, this part is true. Yesterday while carrying a load of laundry, I tripped over the corner hearth of our fireplace and broke 2 bones in my pinky toe. I heard the crack and saw the bone pop out. My first reaction was to use some of Rebecca’s vocabulary and then I simply popped the bone back in place and grabbed my pocketbook to go drive car pool. I guess it’s true what they say about shock. You don’t exactly think clearly in moments of stress. When my foot started to swell to the size of a watermelon, I rethought car pool and called my father-in-law for backup. Then I loaded Tuck in the car and drove myself to Doctor’s Care. After 45 minutes in the waiting room and Tuck stepping on my hurt foot for the 2nd or 3rd time, the staff at Doctors Care kindly informed me that my husband was now on “active duty” with the military (really…I hadn’t noticed?!?) and they could not offer me any services; any medical attention for our family would need to take place a Moncrief Army Hospital on Ft. Jackson… Lovely… (Actually, more of Rebecca’s vocabulary popped up in my head)…remember….it was pouring down rain yesterday afternoon… Ft. Jackson is a good 45 minute drive away from Lexington…Tuck was under my legs and managed to step on my foot one more time…life is good!
I won’t retell the story of my drive to Ft. Jackson, but when I pulled into the gate for an I.D. check the guard took one look at me and gave directions to the hospital. Apparently, the remnants of my “ugly” cry on the drive over was smeared across my face in mascara…I was one hot mess!!! He also noticed the size of my foot propped up on he dashboard. The sympathetic look he shot me was worth a thousand words.
When we entered the hospital, Tuck was thrilled. He loves Ft. Jackson. It’s his Eden on planet earth. He was also happy to notice that some very stern looking drill instructors were in the waiting area. He kept saluting them and mentioning very loudly that his Daddy was a soldier in the war. No worries…Tuck had plenty of time to make conversation with his soldier friends, we were in the waiting room for what seemed like eternity. He also managed to step on my foot a few more times, to which he would sweetly say, “OOPs, was that your hurt foot?” I couldn’t answer…I was too busy writhing in pain.
When I was finally sent to x-ray, I learned that Tuck (my constant companion) would not be able to accompany me; children under the age of 12 would not be allowed near that department. I was desperate. So I grabbed a somewhat sweet looking soldier woman and asked her if she liked five-year olds…she kind of nodded so I gave her Tuck (again, no worries….anyone interested in kidnapping would return Tuck after an hour). I went to x-ray and hoped this ordeal would be over soon. When I returned to the waiting area to fetch Tucker, his reluctant babysitter said, “Gee lady, I know almost everything about you except your social security number. I’m real sorry about your husband and your foot. I’ll be praying for you.”…see she was nice after all. Thank you, Jesus.
After what seemed like another interminable time, I saw a doctor. He commended me on popping the bone back in place and resetting my toe. He also thought it was “real cool” how I managed to break a pinky toe in 2 places. Then he dropped the hammer, one of the breaks is right next to a joint which will most likely require a pin…. WHAT?!?…. I’ve been training for a 10K on March 27th. It was my goal when Chris left. I was going to run the Cooper River Bridge with a t-shirt that had Chris’ big bald head on the front…”chariots of fire” was going to be playing as I crossed the finish line…I was going to send Chris a picture of me and the Kenyans smiling broadly at the end!!!
Doogie Houser was not going to steal my dream!!!
“Cut it off”….excuse me?!? ….”You heard me, amputate the thing…who needs a pinky toe?!?” (dramatic pause)
Then I came back to my senses and thought about some new sandals I wanted for the summer. They just wouldn’t look the same with a missing toe…. Damn.
Things like this just keep happening.
The devil keeps pushing my face in the dirt, just hoping I will holler “uncle” and give up.
I guess he didn’t get the memo. I’m a direct descendant of Rebecca Baines. She’s my namesake for goodness sake. Hell hath no fury like a woman with renal failure and/or a broken pinky toe. Not to mention, I’ve got a little Mountain Dew and a whole lot of Jesus on my side.
Satan better hide for a while…that’s all I’m sayin’!