Tuesday, January 05, 2016

"I'm glad Shawn peanut buttered your phone yesterday."

 Wherein Jack went to the doctor.
 And it turned out to be more interesting than it might normally be.
 Because Jack has the talent of turning normal situations into weird occurrences.

 It has been settled on that my rib is broken, cracked, or fractured. Mostly it just depends what I'm doing at the time you ask me, and how conversational I am. All of the above fits, though it seems to lean more toward an actual break and not a crack because the way the bone is sticking out. Not that I'm studying my bones, since I have no interest in anything medical and still grow queasy at the sight of my own blood.

 The doctor called it a fracture. I don't know the difference between a fracture and a break and I didn't care to ask him after he poked and prodded it and left me in more pain then when I first climbed up onto his table. For some reason a man jabbing you in your broken rib and asking if it hurts ruins all further desire for conversation.

 I mostly just call my rib broken, because I hate the way fracture sounds. Sounds more painful, and as if the little bones in my body are doing nasty things to my insides, which is kind of what it feels like.

 But that isn't the point of this story.

 The point is more the actual doctor visit and the waiting room.

 By Sunday, eight days after my rib began to hurt, I figured it wasn't just bruised as I first thought. I've gotten bruised insides before and this felt completely different. After talking to some friends, and having friends contacted a broken rib expert, everyone figured in the very least it was cracked. I figured the same and kind of wanted to leave it at that. A crack I could man up about. I could still convince myself I was fine, go on walks, maybe a hike or two, even go down to the beach and run through the snow and fly my kite.

 This is why I shouldn't be left without adult supervision.

 The broken rib expert thought all of the above was a bad idea, even though he had no idea I had any of it planned. He suggested I go to the doctor, and I agreed that I should, though I never said I would. I have this thing with doctors. They have needles. They poke you when you're sore. They have needles. Most insane madmen pose as doctors and stick people with needles. And they have needles. I try to avoid them at all costs. Not always my wisest course of action, but I'm not known for my wisdom.

 I was in a lot of pain by Sunday, and after hearing it might be broken feared the dreaded warning most people give with broken ribs. "Don't let it puncture a lung." I had a bad image of myself drinking tea and then gasping for breath. On top of the pain though, I just wasn't having a very good day and by Sunday night a friend caught on and decided Psych was in order.

 The plan was for me to go over and watch Psych, then come back to my place where I'd be picked up in the morning to be taken to the doctor. (I didn't know I was going to the doctor until that moment and still considered backing out of it.) That was until I got to my friend's house and they saw how much pain I was in.

 And this is where I pause to explain the PJs. By the time I went over to my friend's house I'd already put on my pajamas because I had no plan of going over until they invited me over at eight. I didn't feel like trying to get back into my clothes, and since I thought I'd be back at my place in an hour I didn't pack myself anything to change into later.

 Now you now the PJs. Also I wore my cloak. My Ranger cloak over my Tintin pajamas. And my nice slip on shoes. Without socks.

 When my friends insisted I spend the night with them just in case I got worse, the plan became for us to wake up early, swing by my place where I could get dressed, then go to the doctor.

 I think you get where this is going.

 The waking up early worked. But then there was the business of starting the car and warming it up. And my sore rib. And the fact it hurts to change clothes. And the fact there were two sick people in the house with me who needed to see the doctor too. Somehow, in this round about way, we trooped to the doctor with half of us in our PJs. (There were four of us. I and another girl in our PJs, her parents were dressed.)

 We left really early and were one of the first there to spend our time in the waiting room filling out all that paper work which is likely burned when patients leave  because when they go back they have to fill it out all over again. Once we were done we had the fun task of sitting and waiting, and waiting, and waiting. But my two friends who were sick were coughing a good deal, and therefore had to put on masks. (The surgical kind.)

 I was over my cold by then. But I had a tiny cough which showed up sometimes and I fought because it hurt like mad to cough. Unfortunately, when I get nervous, my throat tickles. And I was nervous, because I was in my PJs and cloak and the other patients thought I was insane - but mostly because the nurse behind the counter was judging me over my lack of medical insurance.

 And I began to cough. Next thing I knew, I was strapped down with a mask...which I had to keep on even after I stopped coughing for the rest of the visit.

 Do you know how much attention you can draw in a doctor's waiting room with a surgical mask, Tintin pajamas, nice shoes, and a Ranger's cloak? Don't to mention the fact I was doubled up and shifty trying to find the impossible position to sit in which wouldn't hurt my rib?

 Quite a bit. I drew so much I started to smirk at people from behind my mask, a talent I didn't know I had.

 After that of course came the poking, the fractured rib announcement, the order not to lift anything for a month, and the fact that I somehow managed to break my rib without having any real clue as to how I did it.

 Do I have talent? You bet your best shiny button I do. 

 I also got a nice reminder that I have the greatest friends in the world - who have been looking after me since the doctor visit. (My two sick friends were declared to have phenomena, so we've kept each other company in our agony by laying about and moaning in pain.)

 But....I think I had more, but now my battery is dying so I have to dash. 

 Quote is from Psych, something Shawn's dad said to Lassie.



  1. Oh I am so sorry about your rib! What in the deep world?

    But... "filling out all that paper work which is likely burned when patients leave because when they go back they have to fill it out all over again." has me rolling on the floor gasping with laughter and trying not to wake up my family (because I have insomnia randomly... mostly whenever I have far too much to do and don't feel like I have enough time to get it all done).

    I am right there with you about doctors. Most of the time, I would rather just crawl into a hole and if I die, I die, and if I get better, great! rather than go see a doctor about it. Needles. *shivers*

    That's why people like us need friends and family around us who kidnap us and make us go to the doctor... even if we are wearing an odd assortment of clothings. ;)

  2. How do you manage to get yourself into such scrapes? Jack, you're like a walking adventure, every where you go.

    I hope your rib gets better soon. I've never been sick with friends, but it must be better than being sick alone.

    It's awesome though that your friends were scheming to take you to the doctor. They're the best. :)

  3. You made it interesting all right. What did the doctors think of your TinTin pajamas?
    Your friends did good by you. Now rest up and heal.

  4. Ouuuucchh!!! I've heard that broken ribs are really, really painful (my dad had one once... He was mountain biking in the snow and was biking over a log when he began to fall. He decided to bail and fall on a nice snow-covered bush. It turned out that it was a nice snow-covered stump). At least you know what it is, now! Annoying that there's no magic cure for a broken rib, though. All you can do is sit and wait for it to heal.
    Tintin pajamas and a ranger's cape, though? I give you two thumbs up. You have good style, my friend. Are the PJs Tintin-patterned (if so, WHERE CAN I BUY THAT FABRIC???) or just in his style? Either way, pretty snazzy!

  5. HI, Jack.

    Not the best way to start the new year... So sorry for you pain and discomfort. A broken rib is NOTHING to laugh about. Take care of yourself and move gingerly.

    I hope the rest of 2016 is a much happier existence. One good thing about starting the year this way... it can only GET BETTER!

    All the best ...

  6. Sorry about your rib, that would be awful. You have a knack for turning the worst situation into cute little stories that make me smile. Just the thought of you in Tin-Tin pajamas with a Ranger cloak over top. I'm glad you had friends to go through this with you. I will be praying for your rib. :D

  7. Aw, Jack! I'm so sorry! Although, I've done some crazy things that could even be considered stupid in the best possible sense (if there is a best sense of the word stupid), and never managed to break anything, so I can't really relate. My body seems to lean much more toward slipping. And tripping. And things that make me look awkward in public, or just in general, along with the occasional nail or staple or blackberry thorn being stabbed into my arch. But I hope someone is spoiling you rotten, or I may just have to come and do it myself. Don't MAKE me send my best chocolate chip cookies over there :) Get better as soon as possible - unless all that spare time is helping you work on Brothers-In-Arms. Then, may the most painful parts heal quickly, and the rest keep you not too active for a little while yet :)


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