Well, it's been about eight or nine years and my knee has gotten bored. So it took the opportunity as I was cleaning a client's house yesterday to make a similar escape. It's funny how quickly your mind absorbs what's going on. In the split second between knowing something wasn't right and hitting the floor, I ceased processing my visual intake and my focus went to a sort of blackness inside my mind where I saw my knee cap sliding to the side of my knee as I fell. This was just in my mind, to inform me of something I already knew. Then the vacuum hit the floor beside me, still on, and I screamed. I do believe it's save to say this is the most excruciating physical pain I've ever felt. I really had hoped never to relive it.
As providence would have it, I was cleaning with the new addition to the team, Kristen. This was Kristen's second house, and her first time cleaning with me. She called and asked if I was alright. Seeing stars, I didn't even hesitate to reply with a negatory. She abandoned her vacuum (still on) and hurried over. I had landed on my butt, but I still had to get into a better position. She calmly told me if I could relax a little, it would be easier. Easier said than done. My limbs were shaking rather violently, even my other leg, and it was laughable to try to relax. But, as often happens when one is in this much pain, I listened to her because she sounded like she knew what she was talking about...and I was ready to do anything to make it stop. The vacuum raged uselessly in the next room while I managed to get into a sort of fetal position. I assured her, in a feeble attempt at bravery, that she could leave me for a moment and turn off the vacuum if she wanted. So she did, as I tried in vain to pop my knee back in myself (that's what I ended up doing last time anyway). I decided it might be a better idea to call 911. Kristen, it became evident, has been trained in this sort of thing.
"Yes, I have a friend who has fallen, she thinks she's dislocated her knee cap. I am a first responder."
Even in my pain, my know-it-all side called out, "I KNOW I've dislocated my knee cap." More for accuracy's sake than anything else.
Kristen came and knelt beside me and I heard a cool female voice on the other end of the line telling her not to move me, not to give me anything to eat or drink, etc. And, as the hospital was apparently three blocks away, the paramedics showed up relatively quickly. As they came into the hall I quipped, "I'd stand up to greet you, but I'm a bit preoccupied at the moment." I saw a gleam in the eyes of the first paramedic and he laughed. Oh yes, we would get along just fine. While I answered all the standard questions and tried to haggle with the men about fixing me there rather than taking me for a rather expensive ride to stay for a couple of hours in a rather expensive building, my boss showed up. It was a regular party in the hallway. I couldn't help but think of the poor client who had just left, telling us she was going to run an errand and she'd be right back. She would be coming home to an ambulance in her front yard. Ah well, what can you do? The paramedics assured me they couldn't do anything there but take me to the hospital (I couldn't help but wonder that if I had managed to do something life threatening perhaps their freedom would have been a bit more expanded.) So I told them I would go to the hospital, but I wasn't taking an ambulance. They said that was fine. So they wheeled the stretcher into the hall. It looked impressive. I asked if it was the deluxe model and they said the upgrade had four wheel drive. The process of transferring was something I would love to forget. It was one of those times when you would really rather just stay on the rug on the wood floor, where the pain isn't going to increase anymore than it has. The second paramedic assured me it would hurt a great deal. Oh good. So they heaved and they hoed and they got Brooke's sorry self onto the stretcher. I began to think about how much more pain that inflicted in the simple transfer, and how if I refused to take the ambulance and went in a car, the transfer would have to be made two or three more times. But if I stayed on the stretcher, the transfer would be once, at the hospital. With a grimace, trying hard not to think about how much money this was going to cost me, I agreed to go in the expensive vehicle.
The ride was uneventful. They didn't even put the sirens on for me. But it was short, and I was taken in through the stretcher entrance. As they wheeled me through the ER, I did the usual thing and looked into each room as I passed. I soon decided that was foolish. I looked like a wimp compared to these people and the amount of blood on most of them was disconcerting, so I kept my eyes straight ahead.
They put the stretcher parallel with a gurney and I asked if maybe I could just stay on the stretcher the whole time. "Sure," the paramedics smiled, "you can stay with us until five. Then we're going home." Ah, nuts. The second transfer to the gurney was also painful, and they had to pick me up twice. I asked for no more, though they would have preferred it. The nurse asked me on a scale of one to ten what my pain was. "Oh, I'd say a seven." The throng of nurses around me looked up in surprise and the one speaking to me said, "Normally everyone says ten. We aren't used to anything lower, so when you say seven, we're all astounded." Maybe, like Brian Reagan, I should have said eight. Ah well, no morphine for Brooke. But they did suggest I get some drugs in me. I asked if it cost money and they said yes, but the second paramedic reasoned, "You want the drugs. I've had my knee cap do that before. You want the drugs." And I saw the logic of his argument. So Brooke was given the drugs. And, while the pain didn't really go away, it was dulled some and I began to talk a whole bunch. By this time my boss had followed me to the hospital and found me, and she was sitting in a chair at the end of my gurney, with a huge, amused smile on her face. I told her right before they shot me up that if I spilled all my deepest secrets, she wasn't to breathe them to a soul. Looking back, she didn't promise anything...hm.
We sat around for the better part of two hours. They took X-rays of my knee...though I could have told them what they'd find. And eventually we were wheeled into a room, where they gave me oxygen and shot some milky white liquid into my veins and I was out like a light. I woke up five minutes later to my phone ringing in my pocket. I answered it and scheduled a meeting with someone and hung up, promptly forgetting most of the conversation. My knee felt a million times better, and it was all surrounded by foam and straight sticks. Ahhhh...it's like being immersed in cool water on a hot day. They came in to take me for more X-rays, but I asked if it would cost more money and she said yes. I declined...I knew it was in. She went out and the doctor came in and told me that compared to the rest of the cost of today, X-rays were nothing. Then he shared a sort of backhanded way to bring the cost to about five percent of what the whole thing originally cost. He told me if I did what he suggested, the medical director would be able to drop the price that much for me, but that they couldn't do anything if I didn't complain.
I consented to the X-rays. And, wonder of wonders, it had gone back in just fine. The nurse came to finish me up and take all the tubes out, and she told me that she completely agreed with the doctor...and that he was the medical director.
That made me smile. Wow. So perhaps that will take care of things if I follow his advice.
It was not the way I had expected to spend my day yesterday. And I had to go to a rather formal banquet that night with a leg immobilizer and crutches. But I'm thankful it was nothing else. And that I had such a wonderful experience with the people there, that the knee thing wasn't so bad. I thank the Lord that he was so faithful in keeping me in it. And I'm looking forward to seeing how He will provide for the money I'll need. =)
Today my butt is sore. And my leg is in that foamy thing for the better part of the next week. I hobble around my house with my crutches and take large quantities of time to do general tasks. It is keeping me humble, that' s for sure.
What's the moral of the story? I don't think it's "don't eat your brussel sprouts" or "don't vacuum", though those are extremely valid points. I think it's more that in circumstances like these my faith can crumble or it can be strengthened. I can chose to complain and whine and freak out that the bill is at least as much as the cost of a car and if the hospital sued me they wouldn't even get half that. Or I can decided to trust the One who said, "I will never leave you nor forsake you." and "My God will supply all your needs according to His glorious riches in Christ Jesus." and "If you, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Heavenly Father give what you need when you ask." I really have no reason to doubt. And I'm kind of excited to watch Him work.
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