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My-Story-Widget-pic_thumb.jpgWhen last I wrote, I had you over a cliff wondering what happened to me after I got hit by a car.  I think my mom mentioned what happened in a kind of general sense down in the comments.  I’m going to go into more detail, here, so buckle your seat-belts and hang on.

As I said, I found myself face down in the street nearly ten feet from where I first started.  Interestingly, the first thought that I had when I realized what had happened was the same as the last one I had before I was struck by the car.  I should be on the sidewalk.  With that in mind I pushed myself up off the pavement intent on making my way out of the street.

Before I tell you what happened next, let me just say, if you’re ever hit by a
car and find yourself lying in the middle of the street, stay where you are.  Don’t try to move.  Being hit by a car isn’t something you normally walk away from without some kind of injury, which could be made worse, if you should stand and move around.

OK!  PSA over!  Back to the story.

I pushed myself up to my hands and knees, then pulled my right foot up to try to put some weight on it.

It bent at the shin, a place, may I add, that legs aren’t supposed to bend.  I must have already been in shock or something because, just as with the utility knife, it never occurred to me to be afraid or scream or anything like that.  I just stared at my foot like someone whose brains have leaked out their ears somehow.  One piece of information, however, became clear to me and, as I shoved myself over onto my rear end, I yelled that someone needed to call 911 because my leg was broken.  Then, stupidly, I began putting my foot down over and over again as if I was fascinated by the way my leg was bending and the way it didn’t hurt at all.

Out of the fog in my brain, it occurred to me that I should probably stop playing with my broken leg and lie down.  As I lay on my side, I was surprised when someone grabbed my head.  I bucked.

“Hold still,” said the someone, probably an EMT.  “You have a head injury.”

A head injury, I thought, No way!  It’s just a broken leg.  I bucked again and looked down at the pavement beneath my head. To my added shock, there was blood there.  Not a lot of blood, but enough to surprise me.

So, I did my best to lie still while the EMTs did their work.  They put a cervical collar on my neck (SOP with a head injury, in case there’s damage to the spinal column), rolled me onto my back, cut my jeans open to the knee and put a pillow splint on my leg. Let me tell you, reader, that was the moment that my leg chose to hurt, a pain that shot up my leg and into my knee, where I felt like it decided to live for a while.

It was at that point that I think they asked me where I lived.  I pointed back toward my parents house and asked if the EMTs could let my mother know what had happened.  What I didn’t know was that both my mother and my sister were standing nearby on the sidewalk in shock at seeing me lying in the middle of the street.  According to my mother, my sister was sure I’d been killed.  I’m not sure what happened, but soon my mother was standing over me asking if I wanted the Home Teachers to come to the hospital and give me a blessing.  I said, yes, please.  Then the EMTs asked me which hospital I preferred.  After I told them, they loaded me onto a gurney and shoved me into an ambulance, where they added an IV and oxygen.

I remember mentioning that my leg hurt.  The EMT told me to breathe deeply and the oxygen would help to take away the pain.


I realize that the EMTs probably lied to me to keep me from entering into a state of panic, which wouldn’t have been good for my leg, but I can’t help but wish they had just told me the truth and had a little respect for my level of intelligence.

When we got to the hospital, I was wheeled into the emergency room, where they did a quick x-ray to determine the state of my leg and put twelve stitches in my scalp.  Then they stuck me off in a room, where my mother and sister met me.  Shortly afterward, a police officer joined us.

“Ma’am, it’s my duty to inform you that it’s illegal to jaywalk,” he said with a smile.

I grimaced back, “Yeah, I’ll be sure to remember that from now on.”

“I’m sure you will,” he grinned and left.

Following that, our home teachers joined us and gave me a blessing, promising me that this tribulation was in my life to teach me two all important things.  1) Patience  2) to follow the laws of the land.

After that, the doctor came back, bringing the x-ray.  He explained that this was a complex fracture.  One break across the tibia bone and four across the fibula bone of my lower leg.  In effect, as my mother pointed out, my lower leg was shattered just above the ankle, but the broken bones hadn’t pierced the skin.

“Now,” said the doctor, “you have two choices.  We can either put it in a cast and hope it heals straight or put a rod in it and hope it doesn’t get infected.”

Question Time!  Have you ever spent time in a hospital emergency room?  What was it like?  Did you have a broken bone?  Was it something more serious than that?  Please, share your story with me!

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