Diaster Strikes! Part II

The only things that I was aware of on the ride to the emergency room were the bumps in the road. My universe was now centered around the unending pain in my arm. The only variations in the pain occurred when the car hit one of Houston's apparently endless pot holes. At this point, I felt sure this was the worst it could hurt.

We got to the emergency room about 5:00 on Friday evening at the beginning of the Memorial Day weekend.

We passed the emergency room turn in at Ben Taub. I had spent far too much time in the mighty Taub's ER waiting room with husband number one back during the really bad old days. They do an amazing job of putting people back together, but for tonight I would pass on their hospitality and go next door. For me. Ben Taub is full of memories. That's a long story in and of itself. Maybe I'll tell it someday, but not now.

The next emergency driveway was less than a block away and led to Memorial Hermann Hospital in the Medical Center. My husband, Joel, walked me through the doors and deposited me at the emergency room admissions desk. While the woman at the desk started asking me questions and filling out forms, he left to park the car. Once she finished with me, I took my seat among the other folks waiting their turn.

The waiting room was divided into three seating areas, each with its own TV mounted from the ceiling. The result was a mind numbing cacophony of sports and news. The waiting room was amazingly empty or so it seemed to me.

An old woman in a frumpy brown blouse tried to start a conversation with me. Apparently she had broken her arm some time back. I vaguely understood that she was trying to tell me that her arm had been broken worse than my arm. I nodded and closed my eyes hoping that she would leave me alone.

Joel returned and sat with me. We waited. I rocked in my seat, cradling my arm and wondering if I would still get to go to Japan. Joel says it took about a half hour before they called me to go in, but I had no sense of time left. The universe revolved around my arm.

Everything from here on gets pretty fuzzy for me. Everyone was very kind and gentle with me. There was a constant flow of doctors and nurses. They took my blood pressure and my temperature. They asked, "Can you feel this? and this?" as they checked for nerve damage. I would love to thank them each and every one, but that's not possible here.

Then, they did the best thing of all, they gave me pain medication. They asked if I wanted a shot or tablets. Silly me, I asked for tablets.

Shortly afterward they sent me to get X-rays. Joel had stayed with me the whole way so far, but here they had him stay outside the door.

A very nice young woman asked me to place my hand in various positions. Positions that had previously been everyday, no big deal, a gesture here, a turn of the wrist there, had become excruciating. I was afraid that I was screaming. In my mind I was screaming, but I kept my mouth closed. Joel, waiting outside the door, said that he could hear me and it only sounded like whimpering.

Afterward I was able see my X-rays. My initial self-diagnosis was right. It didn't look at all right. I definitely broke my arm. The paperwork said, "Fracture: distal radius (displaced)."

I was taken in and helped onto a bed. An IV was placed in my right hand. An oxygen mask was placed over my nose and mouth. The last thing I remember was the nurse injecting some liquid into my IV that produced a very unpleasant burning sensation in my right arm and then nothing.

When I awoke, I was lying on the same bed in a different room with my left arm in a splint, elbow to knuckles.

There was more, people checking on me, signing papers, checking out, but it all passed in a haze.

The emergency room was starting to get busy. Folks in much worse shape than me were being rolled in on gurneys.

I don't really remember leaving the emergency room. All I really know is that Joel got me safely home and, for that, I am very grateful.

To be continued . . .