Kage Baker would shake her head whenever I hurt myself (you know, after the screaming and cursing and bleeding and hunting for the car keys was over), and say sadly, “Only you, you little Welsh mutant.”
But really, these things happen to all sorts of people. All the time! The textbooks are full of examples that illustrate not only medical commonalities, but things I have actually done. Or survived. Or had removed
Kage would say: “That’s the point. Most people don’t match more than one. And then it’s something ordinary. Like, being born.”
Well, those are under-achievers, says I. Or maybe it’s just statistics. Someone has to be on the far, exotic end of the statistical U-graph, right? Consider me infra-red, ultra-violet: where most people may span yellow, green or blue, I might be reaching for gamma radiation. Soft x-rays, at least.
It’s not that bad, though. Not this time. This injury is as common as dirt. I saw my orthopedist this afternoon, the estimable Dr. Cepkinian, and he assures that at least 80% of proximal humerus fractures (which is the kind I have) do not have to be treated by surgery. Mind you, that’s not the kind I have, but still – that’s a good percentage. However, what I have will require surgery. It only remains to figure what kind of surgery; what combination of pins, screws, plates and Superglue will restore to me my good right arm.
So the next stop for me will be a series of CAT scans, to determine just sort of ivory puzzle is lurking up there under the edge of my scapular. Those will done as soon as possible, and the surgery will be scheduled as soon possible after that. If it’s left too long, poor Dr. C. will need to break bones in order to heal them … orthopedists have large hands, I’ve been told, just to deal with recalcitrant bones. And I really do not want to present with such a problem …
But in the meantime, I’ll be drinking left-handed. Eating, too. And typing short blogs very, very, agonizingly slowly.
And that is where I stand now, Dear Readers. with a common sort of injury – just not common enough.
It was probably the possums that dragged that yarn bag out where I’d trip on it. Or maybe the Cheetos pushed the odds over the edge. Next time, I’ll be sure to stick to something boring, like Triscuits.
I d have a shoulder and 2 hips left, after all.