After nearly two weeks of wearing an old school plaster cast on my right arm that totally isolated my thumb I got to go to the fracture clinic yesterday where I was told I would receive a waterproof cast. And not a moment too soon. My cast looks all clean and white in this picture but after nearly two weeks I looked like I was halfway through putting on my Zombie Mummy Halloween costume and I smelled like a dumpster. On garbage day. In August.
I will admit that I've been feeling a little dodgy about going to my local hospital since my traumatic c section experience, but the folks in the ER that put on my cast were lovely. And they gave me Tylenol 3. Which is more than I can say for the folks in the maternity ward.
No, I'm not bitter at all. I always hoped to have my very own case of PTSD before I hit 40. Dreams! Realized!
I was told that I should block off 4 hours for my appointment yesterday in case they were running behind. Hey, at least they were honest about it. The good news is they were only running 1 hour behind and in that hour I was able to sit outside and call into the office and take part in an important meeting I didn't want to miss out on. If I could drive a car or successfully bathe myself right now that sentence would make me sound like a grown up.
My appointment went something like this:
(a small child is crying in the curtained off area next to mine)
Technician: You're not gonna cry are you?
Me: No promises.
(the doctor walks in and introduces himself)
Me: How are you?
Doc: Better than you.
The doctor looks kind of like that drunk doctor in the Law & Order pilot. You know the one I mean. Which is to say, respectable and in a hurry to get to lunch.
Doc: (looking at two week old x rays) You broke your wrist.
Me: I know. I've been in a cast for two weeks.
Doc: I'm putting you in a removable splint. Come back in 4 weeks.
And POOF with that he was gone. Gone, I presume, to try and touch his finger to his nose while Michael Moriarty looks at him with a combination of disappointment and righteous indignation.
Me: Is there anything I shouldn't do?
Technician: Don't do anything that would make it hurt. That would be bad.
He also told me that this doctor is 3 months away from retirement and that "anyone else" would have given me another cast, but this guy is "old school". That can't be a bad thing can it?
Anyway, it feels ok and I can take it off to shower, so I'm going to choose to think of this as progress.
It looks a little S&M and a little bit Victorian which is appropriate since this is Victoria Day weekend.
In conclusion: pray for me!