judifilksign

I went to my doctor's today. After prodding my foot and making me yelp unexpectedly with acute pain, and cry, (for which she was immensely sorry) she sent me on to the emergency room for an X-ray to see whether I'd broken it. She noted the bruising and inflammation around my foot, and also bruising around my left knee, consistent with my jump, and landing hard.

(Props up to the ConSonance physical therapist, who by adjusting me, probably prevented a lot of problems in that area. No left knee pain, full mobility. If I'd kept off the foot, the adjustment done at the con may have actually fixed everything, but bee-bopping around on it afterward traveling and at work seems to have made it worse again. But on the other hand, or leg, as it may be, whatever adjustments done to my always weak and unreliable right knee have made it, at least, completely pain-free and sturdy enough to support all the limping about I've been doing to favor the injured left side. Thank you, kind PT...)

They wrapped my ankle at the doctor's office, and gave me a scrip for an anti-inflammatory. I hobbled back out to my car, same way as I'd come in. I also now have a reference for a consult regarding a cyst in my hand for an Orthopaedic hand specialist. My doctor notices things I haven't come to complain about. I guess I was fidgeting with the lumplet under the skin like a worry bead, and she was right on it.

At Doctor's West Hospital in Columbus, the admissions people gave me a wheelchair, and admitted me after I paid my insurance co-pay, and wheeled me down to radiology. Busy, busy there, with nine ahead of me and nine behind. After the tech took the series of X-rays, (which made me cry because I had to move my foot in ways that hurt so they could take the pictures) he re-wrapped my foot and said I could go home.

I was like, "Um, do I get to find out whether it's broken before I go, or what?"

The tech looks at my doctor's order for the X-ray. "It says to send results back to your doctor."

"And if it's broken, I just, what, hobble around on it some more until she calls me? Or maybe she thinks y'all can set it and fix me up."

"I'll get a doctor to take a look at it for you, ma'am." He wheels me into the hallway to wait. About fifteen minutes later, he comes back and says the X-rays are negative.

"Does that mean I do or don't have broken bones?" I ask.

"No breaks, so you can go home now." He starts wheeling me back to the hospital main entrance, where I came in.

"Are there any instructions as to how I should take care of my foot?" I ask.

"You aren't here for a consult, only an X-ray," the tech says. "Your doctor's office will take care of that. This is a non-emergency visit."

"My doctor's office is closed now. What do I do?"

"Call her in the morning. I'm sorry. We don't have anyone to look at you now. I can wheel you out to your car..." And so he did. I drove to the drive through at my pharmacy, and dropped off my 'scrip, crying tears made of frustration more than the pain. A two hour wait, so my husband will have to go pick it up after boy scouts.

So, I guess I'll take my anti-inflammatory medicine when my husband brings it home later tonight, try to keep off my foot, which hurts more now than it did the night I hurt it last week Sunday, and call my primary care physician after nine tomorrow, when her office opens.

At supper, I was sitting in my chair sideways, propping my foot up higher by crossing my legs, and Sparkle kicked my wrapped foot really hard, (on purpose, aiming andmaking me cry yet again in surprised pain. She laughed, not realizing it wasn't a game and that my sobbing wasn't laughing. When I didn't stop crying for a while, she left the room and brought me back a tissue to blow my nose and wipe my eyes, and said she was sorry. While she's forgiven, it made a (sarcastic) fine cap to my day.