[Part Three.]
I'm alone in the ER holding cell again. I have a very badly broken shin bone that is likely going to need to be reconstructed, and I briefly consider the advantages of having my entire skeleton removed and replaced with a metal one. I make a mental note to make a Wolverine joke when I'm reunited with my husband again, whenever that may be.
For now, I have no idea how long I'm going to be in this Orthopedic Surgery Queue. Or when I'm going to be "moved upstairs," which is how it is phrased by the nurses and doctors and honestly strikes me as a little ominous. "We're just waiting for a bed and then you'll be Moved Upstairs," where Upstairs is the next boss level in a video game, or some sort of torture chamber that is inexplicably located on an upper level. Maybe the murderers like the natural light?
I close my eyes, try and at least rest my brain for a few moments. Naturally, the moment I nod off, another attendant barges into the room to transport me to the Terrace Murder Room or whatever. I'm taken up to the 6th floor Orthopedics unit, and upon my arrival I'm greeted by maybe five people who are setting up the room. One of these people is to be my nurse, a small and extremely energetic Japanese woman named Junko.
Once I've been hoisted into bed, I'm left with Junko, who in addition to the Questions, has a whole medical history she needs to take. It's getting close to 3:00 in the morning, but Junko is being refreshingly transparent and tells me she is sorry to have to keep me awake for longer, as she is required to ask all of these questions once a patient first arrives to stay. She gives me a very stern talking-to when she sees the water bottle that has been brought up with my things, as I'm scheduled for surgery in the morning and should not have anything to eat or drink. I like her.
When my intake is complete, Junko sets me up with some basic toiletries, and, blessedly, a small paper cup of pain meds. She attaches a cuff to my good leg, which is to prevent blood clots, and I plan to remove it immediately once Junko leaves, because there is no way I'm going to sleep with that thing squeezing me every 30 seconds.
Once I'm alone, I try and relax. I'm an extremely light sleeper under normal circumstances, but right now I am utterly exhausted, physically and mentally. I remove the blood pressure cuff thing from my leg, and jam a pair of earplugs into my ears. But I'm so uncomfortable. In the ER, the Ortho folks put a massive and unwieldy splint on my broken leg, and it feels like it weighs a million pounds. I try and adjust the bad leg, moving it slightly against the pile of pillows elevating it. I adjust the bed, head and feet. Now my back hurts. I fuck with everything again, and at some point realize it's hopeless, and jam the call button for help.
When Junko returns, she seems to know what the problem is, as she has brought a vial of morphine, which she attaches to my IV feed. She stays a few moments to make sure I'm okay, and when she leaves, I am finally able to relax and nod into a light sleep.
Of course, what feels like maybe two minutes later, Junko is back, has flipped all of the lights on and is puttering around, getting ready to extract approximately seven pints of blood from my already damaged body. All I can think about is breakfast. I haven't eaten anything in maybe 15 hours. Junko asks if a doctor has been by yet, and when I reply in the negative, she assures me someone should be by soon to let me know about the surgery.
Junko drains all of my blood, then informs me they have a urine (read: pregnancy) test when I'm ready to pee. I tell her I'm good to go now, so she sets the bedpan underneath me and then leaves to go drop the vials off at the lab. When I'm finished, I sit there and wait. To amuse myself, I begin quietly singing "sitting in a bucket of pee" to the tune of "Sitting on the Dock of the Bay," and chuckling, almost certainly sounding like an insane person. After a few moments, I realize I don't know when she is actually coming back, and that I need to do something about my situation. Slowly, carefully, I lift my bottom and begin inching the very full bedpan out from underneath me.
When Junko returns, she sees the bedpan lying next to me, and actually exclaims, "Wow! Good job!" Whether it's because I filled the bedpan, or managed to wrangle it out from under myself, I'm not sure, but I will take the praise where I can get it. She leaves again, I pull out a book and settle in to wait.
In maybe a half hour, a man who I assume is the doctor comes in with an entourage of med students. They pour in and form a semi-circle around my bed, and I brace myself for an update. The doctor looks at a clipboard, then proceeds to tell me in a British accent that the break is not in fact as bad as they had told me last night, and that surgery won't be necessary, but rather, I will be getting a cast on instead. He orders the troupe of students to prepare for a cast, and then he's gone, all within the span of maybe five minutes. I suppose at Oxford University of Medicine or whatever, they don't teach you about bedside manner, but honestly I'm thrilled that I'm not going to be cut open.
I am also now filled with a sense of creeping dread...don't casts have to stay on a long time? I don't have much time to dwell, though, because there has been a shift change, and my new nurse breezes in and begins the Taking of the Vitals. She is blonde and very Boston, and I think her name is Colleen? She asks if I've been given a breakfast menu yet, and I told her no, I only just learned that I'm not having surgery and therefore am allowed to eat. Colleen must hear the hunger in my voice, because she asks if I want some crackers and peanut butter to hold me over, and I do, I really, really do.
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