Watch your step – weight broke my leg

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A broken leg is never planned.

It was a Friday night and I was doing my usual Friday night activities. . . playing video games. My parents had just returned from a wedding in Arizona, and my sister Chae-Lo had arrived from Las Vegas for the weekend. She had picked up dinner for me and my youngest sister, Chrickette, who was playing my game with me. Chrickette ran out to grab the food, when she came back in I noticed she had forgotten the soda (I know…. It’s not good for me) so I walked out to grab them.

It was dark outside and her car was parked on the street.

I ran to the car, clicked the unlock button, and grabbed one soda from the passenger side, then walked out onto the road to the drivers side. Our road had been repaved in the last month or so, so it was new, black, and very rocky. I had no shoes, so I was slightly hopping, mostly walking, trying to keep my feet off of the road as much as I could. I grabbed the second soda from the car and clicked the lock button as I walk/ hopped back to the driveway.

I took one step onto the sidewalk and heard a loud crack.

My left knee collapsed inwards.
Everything froze. The sodas in my hands fell, and I sat down. I have had many twisted ankles in my life, so I’ve developed an emergency reaction of just sitting down. Not falling, just sitting. I sat in that driveway, my left knee clasped in my hands. My breathing was fast, intermingled with tiny sobs and gasps. I rocked back and forth, trying to stall the pain so I could think. I didn’t have my phone, it was 10 at night, and the only person who knew I was outside was my sister. I was on the ground in front of my neighbors driveway, which was empty, and I knew if I passed out right there, when they came home, they would run me over.

I gathered my strength and started to pull myself sideways.

My goal was to get to my driveway, to get out of the way, just in case. I held onto my knee with one hand and inched my way over with the other. Every second was counted by my breathy sobs of “please” and the pain every movement caused. When I judged myself out of danger of being run over, I stopped, grabbed my knee and sobbed harder. I pleaded with God and anyone else who might hear me to send me help. It was at that point that I remembered the keys, that I somehow still had in my hands, they had a panic button on them. I pressed it and the alarm on the car went off.

I waited, tears staining my cheeks, still hyperventilating, clutching my leg to try and stop the pain. No one came for me. “Please, please, please it hurts, it hurts, it hurts.” The only words that left my mouth. I prayed like I had never prayed before for someone to come out and check on me. I pressed the button again, hoping that someone would hear.

I heard the door to my house open and close, a rush of relief flowed through me.

I began muttering “Thank you, thank you.” as I heard a laughing voice call out my name. Chae-Lo rounded a vehicle and I called to her, she turned to me and ran over.

“What’s wrong, are you okay?” She was frantic as she looked me over. I told her I was hurt and she ran inside to grab my father. She returned with both my parents and Chrickette in tow. My mom cried, freaked out and sat next to me on the ground. She tried to comfort me by putting her arm around me, which caused me more pain. She wanted to take me to the hospital, my father wanted to get me inside, my two sister flitted around us, fussing.

My eyes were closed, trying to deal with the pain. I finally turned to my dad and said “If I go inside I won’t be able to come back out.” I opened my eyes and looked up at him, he stared at me for a moment and nodded. There then proceeded to be an argument about how to get me into the van to get me to the hospital. My mother wanted to grab the office chair from inside, get me into the chair, and roll me to the van. My sisters wanted to back the van up from the driveway and put me in it. My mom refused that one, she was afraid of running me over. 

Chrickette ran inside for the keys, she backed the van up and pulled in diagonally in front of me. My father crouched behind me, wrapping his arms underneath mine, he pulled me to my feet, my arms going around my sisters’ shoulders. We shuffled and hopped to the side door of the van, I turned around and slid in. My parents came with me, while my sisters went back into the house to fret and worry.

The drive to the hospital was painful.

I sat with my hands wrapped around my knee. My head leaned back against the headrest, and I used some breathing techniques I learned in school ( I’m a massage therapist). Every bump and turn had me hissing through my teeth. It was the longest ride I have ever been through.

We arrived at the emergency room.

My father ran to grab a wheelchair, and when we finally got me into it my mother pushed me inside. Once we were checked in, we were shown to a room, and I was told to get onto the bed. That was difficult. We fluffed pillows beneath my leg because straightening it hurt. The nurse came in, did the nursing things, and left. When the doctor came in he move my leg around, amidst painful grunts from me. He said he thought it was a ligament tear, but that he wanted an x-ray just in case, “It’s most likely not broken,” is what he said.

The x-ray tech came to get me.

We had to maneuver me onto the wheel chair again, that was not fun. He wheeled me into the x-ray room and then helped me onto the table.

There was nothing there to support my leg, he asked me to straighten it as much as I could, and to hold still. I tried. My leg started shaking, I had to watch my breathing again, the pain was so bad I wanted to throw something at the tech (Which I would have, if I had anything to throw at him) I got really cold, and the vibrating of my leg got so bad I could feel it throughout my whole body.

Eventually he was done, and asked me to rest the knee against the table so he could get a side view. The relief was so powerful I fear I could have kissed him…. Maybe if he hadn’t caused me so much pain I would have.

Except after that one he wanted me to bend it. . . and rest my foot against the table. . . my knee was in the air, bent, shaking again, my breaths were accelerating from pain and I wanted to shoot him. Finally he was done.

After getting back onto the chair he took me back to my exam room.

Back on the bed, pillows beneath my leg, I was able to relax.

Several minutes went by before my doctor came back in “I lied.” was the first thing out of his mouth “It’s broken. I don’t know how, but it is.”

Apparently it’s almost unheard of for a leg to break on just a step.

He recommended an orthopedic surgeon and said they would contact him to see what he wanted done.

And in the meantime they wanted a ct scan.

This time the wheeled me out on the bed, that was nice, I didn’t have to move. We got to the room and the transfer to the ct machine went a lot better. We just had me slide sideways onto the table, pillows for my leg and everything. I much preferred that to the x-ray machine. We transferred me back to the bed in the same way. And wheeled me to my room.

When I came in, my mom was crying.

Apparently while I was gone the doctor came to talk to them and told them that there was a chance I would lose my foot! What!? How!? They were worried about bone cancer. They didn’t tell me this until the next day. But gahhhhhh!!
Anyways, the Orthopedic surgeon said he wanted me to stay overnight, and that he would meet with us the next day. So I was given a splint and was rolled over to a different ward (don’t blame me that I don’t remember what it was called, it was a traumatic experience!) where I was given a room with an added couch bed because my sisters wanted to stay the night with me.

By this time it was very early on Saturday morning.

just in case of surgery the next day I was told I couldn’t eat or drink anything. They gave me some tylenol (I didn’t want anything stronger, I have a strict policy against addictive substances) and then proceeded to check on me every. . . single . . . hour. . . of the entire night!

The first time I had to use the bathroom was the worst decision my body ever made me make.

I had a bedside commode, which means I stood up, turned and sat down on the toilet. I needed help from the nurses. . . and one of them was a male! I was so embarrassed! I just about died the first time. But without fail, almost every hour I needed to pee. It was the IV they had me on, it was ridiculous!

The night passed, with almost no sleep, awkward situations for me, and constant pain. Finally morning came and I just had to wait for the doctor. . . who did not come, and did not come. Hours passed, I couldn’t have breakfast, I couldn’t drink water unless it was with my dose of Tylenol. I was so tired, bored and hungry.

Chrickette woke up at some point, came over to me with her phone and said she wanted a picture with me. I tried to move away from her and I asked her why. Her eyes were watery and in a small voice she said “Just in case.” Just in case? Just in case of what? And then it hit me. My own eyes smarted and I nodded at her.

She took her picture. Just. in. case. I. died.

It was almost noon when the doctor finally showed up.

My parents were there by then, which was good, because though I understood a lot of what he said, it was still nice to have extra ears listening.

The doctor showed us where the break was, he even drew it on a board for us. The break was on the outside of the Tibia, diagonally from the middle of the bone (the tibial plateau) to just under where the fibula attached. He talked about options, said he could do the surgery that day “But honestly, I had a long surgery last night and I’m a little tired. I can do it, no problem, just want you to know.” he said that Tuesdays were his normal surgery days, so if I decided to wait till then he would make sure to be well rested for me. Lets just say we decided to wait.

He ordered pain pills for me, some heavier ones, that he said wouldn’t be addictive if I took them right. He also wanted me taking a blood thinner. . . as a shot. . . I hate needles. . . he wanted me doing it myself!

He ordered a wheelchair, and a walker so I could get around.

“This break is non weight bearing for 2 months in order to heal.”

2 months! I can’t walk on my leg for 2 months! He said he didn’t really even wanting me to rest my foot against the ground, I could a little, but not a lot.

I was allowed to eat lunch, finally! Some food! We then had to wait to be discharged. . . which took hours. We also had to wait for the wheelchair and the walker, which took a long time as well. We finally got everything worked out and it was 4 in the afternoon!

We got me situated back in the van, this time in the original one they had wanted to take all that time ago. This one had a bench seat in the back so I was able to put my leg up and sit kinda sideways. The ride was still bumpy and uncomfortable, but it went a lot better than the last time I had been in a vehicle. We arrived home, got me into the house, and parked me on my bed where I lost a few hours to another video game. I needed it to take my mind off of everything.

Over the weekend we learned some things:

Like I get bored, very bored, at having to lay on my back in bed while I’m trying to sleep. I’d wake up once or twice a night just from boredom, I would wake up Chrickette to help me to the bathroom. . . so I could do something.

I also didn’t like having to take my shot, but I did, every morning, because I didn’t want to develop a blood clot and die. You know, the simple reasons.

My eating habit changed, my body wanted a lot of fruit. It was weird.

I had to ask for everything. It was hard on me. I always found I loved asking for things when I could easily get it for myself, but now that I can’t, it’s harder to ask.

I fell asleep a lot, randomly.

My leg was a constant achy pain.

I would keep moving my toes, just to make sure I could. I would ask my dad to check my pulse on the top of my foot, just to make sure it was still there.

I iced and iced and iced. Hoping the swelling would go down.

I would have to hop to the bathroom with my walker. I would come back to my seat out of breath and sweating up a storm.

At night it would take us half an hour to find a comfortable spot for my leg and we would have to do it all over again, every single time I got up to use the bathroom.

I ended up taking over the tv in the living room, my mom wasn’t too happy about that. I would watch tv, play video games, read, anything to take my mind off of the pain and boredom.

Finally on Monday I got the call “Your surgery appointment is scheduled for 1:00 on Tuesday, please be here 2 hours beforehand.”

It was set, my surgery. My own anxiety skyrocketed. Would it fix things? Would it take care of at least some of the pain? Would I even wake up?

Click the link for the next part of the story – My Surgery http://www.tryitdietsisters.com/broken-leg-part-2-leg-surgery/

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