Normally you'd think that would
register a “Yes! Not me!! Outstanding!!!” on the “Thank You
Lord Scale of Personal Mishaps,” and, normally, you'd be right. But
since it was Sheri we had to get to the hospital? It was more like a
10 on the “Why Didn't This Happen to me instead?” measuring device.
So, what happened? We were winterizing
the windows in the living room... Let me pause to say that what
happened is an offshoot of my firm belief that no good deed goes
unpunished. We were trying to be conscientious and fiscally careful,
which is like a good deed, and... Sheri was standing on a chair to
reach. I had my back turned to her as I worked on my side, and there
was a huge bang/crash, and I turned around to find Sheri lying on the
floor. She didn't look like it had been part of the winterizing plan.
She laid there for a couple of minutes-
at her request- and then said it really, really hurt. My wife has an
amazing tolerance for physical pain, so the fact that she used two
reallys really worried me.
Her ankle swelled up almost instantly
and turned a variety of colors not seen since Joseph's Amazing
Technicolor Dreamcoat. Let me pause again... Though in this
retelling, I'm applying my amazing talent for humorous turn of
phrase- believe me, at the time I was just truly scared. But scared
is boring, so...
It was obvious we had to get her to the
emergency room and that's what we did. There was a horrific storm
a-blowin' and a-rainin', but at least it wasn't snow. What she had to
go through just to get her to the car would have made many a man
weep, including this one, but there was nary a tear. Of course, it
was raining so hard I wouldn't have known, but I know.
We got her to the emergency room, into
a wheelchair, up the ramp, through intake and into a room. We
apparently arrived right ahead of what the nurse called the
post-dinnertime rush, so Sheri was immediately whisked off to x-ray
and back.
Verdict: broken ankle on her left foot,
both sides. Let me pause a third time... Did you know you really
don't break your ankle? No, you break your leg at the ankle. Those
ankle nobs are the end of your leg bone and she broke one in three
places and the other broke in reaction to the first break. Regardless
of what you call it, it obviously hurt and would likely need surgery,
according to the nice young doctor in the emergency room.
So, we headed home, a journey not much
more comfortable for Sheri than the one to the hospital, even though
her ankle was now in a cast. The biggest challenge I faced was
filling the doctor's prescription for “A stick for her to bite down
on if the pain got too bad,” which was the only aid Sheri would
accept. Well, that and ibuprofen.
I decided we surely had a stick at home
that would work and, if not, we had plenty of wooden spoons. Getting
her back up the three stairs and into the house, still in the driving
rain, was tough, but, again, being the trooper that she is, she
managed.
Here's a funny thing, funny odd not
tunny ha ha. With all the health issues I've had in the last two
years, I have not once said, “Why me?” But as I sat watching
Sheri suffering, more than once I asked, “Why her?” On
Valentine's Day it will be exactly 22 years since she was diagnosed
with Type One diabetes; for the last two-plus years she's had to
watch he husband suffer from multiple myeloma and an unnamed, but
serious, stomach ailment, and she hasn't complained... well, not
much. She's terrific, but sainthood does elude her. So, “Why her?”
and, of course, the answer is, “Why not her? And, too, “If not
her, who?”
After a couple of days she went to the
orthopedic surgeon who scheduled surgery for the end of the week. An
interesting thing about that. My various health issues have left me
with not much strength and I had used up most of it by the time Sheri
had to go to the surgeon. So, we had a couple of friends come over to
assist and I couldn't help but notice, again, how amazing the human
body is. To get Sheri into the car- an act that she did every day,
all by herself, without even thinking about it- now took three
people, plus herself. Yeah, boy.
They're going to insert a steel plate
in her foot to fix it. I think, once the pain that comes from the
surgery itself wanes, she should be able to get about a little better
since it would seem the ankle will be truly immobile.
How upset have I been about all this?
Not once have I said, “Look, Sheri, I know it hurts, but I had a
stem cell transplant and you didn't hear me complain,” or any such
thing. I just want her to heal and not have to be in pain. That's
all.
There are a variety of versions of
the story that gives this blog its name. The pony is the constant in
all of them. A man is on his way to a party when he comes across a
young boy shoveling ass over tea kettle at an enormous mountain of
manure. The man asks the child if he wouldn't rather go with him to
the party than shovel all that poop. The kid says, “No way man.
With all that poop... there must be a pony in there somewhere
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