After about two awkward, lurching, hesitant steps on the crutches deep in the ER, common sense and a desire to get home that night kick in and we request and I get a wheelchair.
The excellent aide who taught me the most about crutches wheels me out and to the back passenger door of the car. He helps me up and I manage to get in on my back with my immobilized leg way up toward the roof.
We drive the two short blocks home. I get out of the car with Hilary’s help and into the house. I can’t remember how I did that or how long it took me. The dogs are in the backyard as I come through the door, but soon are allowed back in they and are very happy to see me.
At the ER it was suggested I sit on the steps and work my way up backwards. This is very fine advice for someone with an injured leg that will not tolerate any pressure. The leg gets dragged up. It’s also fine advice for people a lot smaller than me. Me, I should have just used a crutch and the banister and walked up as I easily did thereafter.
But I followed the advice to sit and back up. It took 30 minutes plus, left me gasping and muttering and when I got to the top, I knew two things: I’d never do that again, and the was no way I was going to stand up. So I scooted the 15 or so feet to the bed on my butt, rolled over, and using just my arms, rather slowly pulled my carcass up onto the bed. The Percocets were working and I wasn’t in any pain (not that I ever was after the first few minutes in the ER), and I was exhausted.
We fall sleep, dogs piled up against us, Boomer, as usual, at my head.
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