When I wrote about the fog and breaking my ankle I forgot to mention an important part. I mean, really important. Probably because I didn’t tell about what happened beyond calling for help.
Of course there was the ride to the hospital and trying to get someone’s attention in the emergency room. Standard stuff. There was the nurse peeling my sock off and exclaiming “oh my God!” Not good to hear from a medical professional. And then hearing “I can’t get a pulse down here…” that was scary too.
But laying on a gurney with people bustling around and hearing them say to me “okay, we’re going to need to cut off your jeans” brought on more reaction than the pain! "NO-O-O-0-0-0-0-0-0-0!!!"
I was wearing clean underwear, could not have cared less if my legs were shaved at that point, but those jeans? My favorite pair. My favorite pair of jeans that fit me and actually looked good on me, and they were telling me they were going to take a pair of scissors and cut them from waistband to hem.
I needed pain medication for that part more so than when they set the bones. Arg-g-h-h-h!!