I'm at the ER, and it's now about 8:30 PM. The EMT and the nurse at registration compare notes while my husband stands next to the gurney, gripping my hand and making soothing noises. I'm slightly dazed from the pain meds. The nurse turns to me and asks the Questions, along with some additional inquiries.
"Do you smoke?" (no, somehow I have never been a smoker)
"Do you drink every day?" (of course not, I lie)
"Do you do any other drugs?" (nope, I lie again, because the one time I made the mistake of telling a doctor I smoked weed from time to time they did all these other bullshit drug screens on me like it was the 80s and people actually believed it was a gateway drug)
We are moved into the hallway to await a room. I text my boss and co-worker and let them know I will not be able to help with tomorrow's event because my leg is likely broken. I know they are screwed, and I'm maybe a little gleeful about it, which is fucked up, because my leg is likely broken.
After a short wait, I'm wheeled into a room and left there. For those of you lucky enough to never have been to the ER for any reason, those rooms are fucking bleak. Inconsistent lighting, a smattering of uncomfortable chairs, sharps containers on the walls, locked cabinets of medical supplies, and for the amount of time you spend waiting, an insulting lack of TV or magazines of any kind.
**Disclaimer: Despite the hospital smack-talk that follows this disclaimer, understand that I have nothing but utter reverence and complete respect for hospital employees. Y'all work so fucking hard and I am grateful for you. You are not responsible for the shortcomings of bureaucracy, so please make earmuffs (eyemuffs?) if you need to as you're reading because I'd rather break my other leg than disrespect your profession in any way.**
A nurse comes in to take my vitals. She is very sweet, and I cannot remember her name as soon as she tells it to me. I am asked if I'm in pain, which I feel like the answer to should probably be "duh", but instead I just nod gravely. The nurse leaves and comes back with a vial of something that is inserted into my IV. She tells me that the doctor will be in shortly. I know that in hospital talk, "shortly" translates to "between five and fifty-five minutes," and I am becoming more and more aware that I'm still in my gym clothes, still soaked in sweat that has now become very cold. I also haven't eaten dinner yet. It's close to 9:30 PM at this point.
Within the hour, a young woman comes into the room and asks me the Questions. She removes the splint from the fire department and is examining my lower leg, poking and prodding and asking if it hurts. It does. A man struts into the room, shakes my hand in a manner that I find distastefully enthusiastic considering my current situation and asks me the Questions again. I catch a glimpse of his badge and identify him as the attending physician, and he seems downright jolly as he quizzes the woman, who I assume is a student, on which area the X-rays should be taken. I'm told again that someone will arrive soon to take me for the X-rays. Husband puts on a podcast to help pass the time, while I play Animal Crossing: Pocket Camp on my phone and try very hard not to despair.
An attendant arrives soon to take me for the X-rays. He wheels me to somewhere else in the hospital, and then someone else wheels me into the imaging room. It is cold and dimly lit. The X-ray tech is nice enough, but he is about to do horrible things to me. In order to get a good image of the bone, my leg and foot need to be manipulated into the proper position. Manipulating my leg and foot is what causes both of those things to hurt very much. The tech is now trying to bend my foot toward me and I very nearly throw up in his kind face. He is instructing me to take deep breaths. Then he starts rotating my lower leg and I am again very close to passing out, involuntarily emitting these horrifying grunting noises in pain every time he touches me. When it's over, I practically cry with relief, and he gets me a blanket out of one of those warmer things, and I'm wheeled back to the ER.
We wait some more, during which time my mother calls me in a panic, because I'm a very considerate child and checked into the hospital on Facebook before calling either of my parents to tell them what happened. After I'm off the phone with my mom, another man and woman come in to the room, and I assume they are the Orthopedic folks. The new doctor asks the Questions as he takes a look at my leg, and suddenly notices the splint, which is still lying underneath my mangled leg.
"What is this?" he asks, barely concealing his disgust.
I take a close look at the splint for the first time and see that it is essentially a tri-folded piece of cardboard with discolored egg crate fabric glued inside it. I chuckle and say, "It's from the fire department."
The doctor picks it up, I swear, by his thumb and forefinger, saying "Well, let's get rid of this immediately."
He then proceeds to inform me that I do in fact have a bone fracture in the tibia (one of the long bones in the lower leg) and that they're going to have to do a CT scan in order to get a better look at the break and determine what the treatment will be. I'm informed that there is actually a queue for Orthopedics procedures, full of other people who slipped on the ice tonight, and that it may be a longer wait. It's now nearly midnight.
There is now no way I'm going home tonight. I ask my husband to return home and pack a bag for me, and order a Lyft for him. It feels especially lonely once he's gone, and I attempt in vain to rest my eyes for just a moment until it's time for the CT scan. Then I realize that I really, really need to pee.
I page the nurse using the giant TV remote, and inform her that I gotta go. She leaves to get the necessaries, and when she returns with another nurse I realize that my condition is such that I require a team in order to take a tinkle. The two nurses consider me a moment, wonder aloud what's the best way to do the thing.
In the ambulance, I had a sock and an ankle compression sleeve cut off me. Currently, I'm also wearing a knee compression sleeve and my absolute favorite pair of running tights, which my husband calls the "Dippin' Dots pants." I tell them they might as well just cut the whole deal off.
It's going to be a while until I can work out again anyway.
The Pee Team sets the bedpan underneath me and draws the curtain so I can do the business. When I'm finished, I experience the very new sensation of sitting in a bowl of my own urine. Any dignity I may have retained up to this point is basically gone, and I resign myself to my fate.
The night continues. I get the CT scan. My husband returns to the ER just as the Orthopedic doctor does, who proceeds to and tell me that I have a spiral fracture of my tibia that goes down into the ankle joint, and I'm almost certainly going to need surgery, but it may not even happen until the weekend, because there are fourteen people ahead of me, also with broken appendages, who also need surgery. They are finding a room for me upstairs. It's 1:30 in the morning.
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