If it's the laws of Karma that are reaching up and biting me on the face, I must have been an axe murderer-or worse-in a previous life. Personally, I prefer to think that I had a few moments of absolute clumsiness-hopefully, temporary clumsiness. That is why you haven't heard from me in two weeks.
I went to see Ghostbusters (two weeks ago today), and enjoyed the references to the original. I felt like reminiscing for a day or two-and did get a few good laughs out of the reboot. When you are one of the few bright lights in a land that seems filled with the Walking (Brain)Dead, you really need some laughs. So that was pretty good, and I did my due diligence the next day (a couple of tests, and now I am done for another year). Thursday I went to see my friend Dani, and that was good, too. I was on a roll, wasn't I? Err...no, I wasn't. Friday happened.
I didn't get much sleep on Thursday night-insomniac that I am and have been all my life-so I was really knackered when I got a text from my friend Georgina. She is worse than I am when it comes to not sleeping. She asked me to come around for coffee. It was 6:30 am, I'd already had my first cup of the day. So I went next door, and that was my biggest mistake: I wasn't looking at the ground, I was joking with her-and she has a step in front of her house that is loose. I hit the damned thing-no elbow crutch, and it would not have done any good anyway, because I went (as they say over here) ass over tit, put my right arm out, and hit a rusty metal strip that is right outside her glass door. To add insult to injury, the metal was filled with ant powder, because we have ants coming in from the garden.
I was too stunned to swear. My arm was cut from wrist to elbow, the inside of my arm was on the outside, and believe me when I say that the pain was excruciating-and so was the blood. I thought that my friend was going to faint. I thought that I was going to faint. It was horrible. So she called for the paramedics, and what followed was a nightmare. The ambulance arrived, the two men took me to the nearest hospital-which wasn't the Royal Free, but was the Whittington. I was there for nearly five hours. Then I finally got sewn up: seven stitches in my arm, four steri-strips beneath (we used to call them butterflies when I was a child. Whatever. All those things were holding my arm together). And-I've got a hairline fracture which they left, because I needed the stitches. This was the Whittington. I'm lucky that I still had my arm when I left; it was the Whittington. I'm surprised they didn't try to amputate.
So that was my week and a half: taking pain killers, not using my arm (using a sling), and feeling very sorry for myself. I kept swearing because I should have been looking down at the ground, not up at my friend, and cracking jokes. Even though the hospital doctor reminded me that I was lucky I didn't go through the glass door, and lucky that I didn't break anything (anything important, that is), I still felt like a total klutz. I had to go to my GP to get pain killers, too-but everyone there knows me, and the nurses kept telling me that everyone has moments of clumsiness, I'm not alone in falling over. I'm lucky, it's just a huge scar that I will have up my arm to remind me to be more vigilant in future. Etc. Etc. But I still felt pretty awful. I realize how controlling I am!
That was what I got from this awful experience: I am controlling. I need to be perfect. Well-so much for that!
I had to keep going back to see the nurse, to have the wound checked and cleaned, and have the dressing changed. In the middle of this-last week-I also had to go to the Royal Free for my immunoglobulin infusions. I thought there would be jokes-but no, everyone was sympathetic. Thank goodness for that.
I've done only what I had to do since this whole thing happened. Yesterday I had to go back to the doc's to have the stitches removed. I've got a huge - about 4 inches - gash down my arm, and it looks pretty nasty. So, I will be wearing long sleeves for the foreseeable future. I won't make the same mistake twice (at least, I hope I won't!); I'll remember to be more careful, especially when I see my arm in all its glory.
So now it's back to business as usual. I've got more appointments scattered around, and I've been hibernating in distress for the last eleven days. Now I'm figuring that I'm not doing myself any favors by staying in and wallowing in self-pity. It could happen to anyone. What have I learned? Well-when you fall down, just get up again. That is it: no feeling gloomy, just get back up again. I've been doing that for the last six years. Actually-tomorrow will be exactly six years since the gentamicin disaster.
Another lesson for me: let it go and don't dwell on it. My first cornerstone of life: life isn't fair. Amen, and tough shit to that.
The doctor in A&E who sewed up my arm told me that it will take six months to heal fully. So what am I going to do in six months?
I'm getting a tattoo.
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