These
are the continuing adventures of a Swedish immigrant during her first
year as an American. She boldly went where she'd never gone
before...please come along on Adventures
in America.
If
you don't know why I'm lying in a hospital bed, in traction, go read yesterday's post.
They
took lots of x-rays of me in traction, re-adjusted the traction
(loads of fun...loads...) and then took more pictures. Left me in
traction to see if THIS position would work. The plan was for me to
lie there and HEAL while in traction. As in months. I was not a fan
of this solution.
Meanwhile,
Farmor and Farfar (Father's Mother, Father's Father and you really
ought to know those by now...) had arrived for their long planned
Christmas visit. My parents had decided not to tell them about the
accident until they arrived, but when I wasn't at the airport, they
immediately freaked out and insisted on being brought to the hospital
before going to the house.
We
had of course anticipated this, and I'd been sponge-bathed and
dressed in regular pajamas, not the hospital gown, all to calm Farmor
who was, shall we say, an emotional woman. She of course bawled
while hugging me. Farfar? He hugged me hard and then turned away
and left the room for a moment. Must have had something in his
eye...
It
was great to see them, traction didn't seem as horrible when Farmor
was holding my hand and telling me stories. But they'd been
traveling. No one was going to force-feed them ice-cream before
taking them home, but I'd say a stop at the hospital to see your
granddaughter broken and in traction would be worse than midnightvanilla.
After
everyone left, it was bedtime. I'd never felt so alone in my entire
life. I was in a biggish room with at least three other hospital
beds, but I couldn't really see because I was sorta tied down in
various places – to keep me positioned correctly for healing- and
sitting up and looking around wasn't an option. So I stared at the
ceiling and cried myself to sleep.
Soon
(not soon enough) they decided traction wasn't going to work. I
don't care if it would have worked MEDICALLY, but keeping this 9 year
old tied to a bed for months would have made me literally insane. I
think this incident is the root of my claustrophobia
Instead,
I got surgery, two pins, which I still have, but can't find, so just
picture 4 inch bolts from the hardware store. Seriously. I stayed a
few more days, now in a body cast which went from my chest to just my
toes peeking out on the injured (right) side to above my knee on the
left. There was a big metal pole from the left thigh to the right
ankle. I think to keep the cast stable. Aunt Risky colored it like
a candy cane.
I
had great nurses as you can see. That didn't stop me from wanting to
go home. Receiving a girl in a body cast takes some preparation, and
living in one takes some...patience. This saga (Swedish for story,
did you know that?) will continue at another letter...as I learned
when I started watching commercial TV, “Stay tuned!”
