Did I Do That?

Steve Urkel said it best when he would mess up and say, "Did I Do That?" While I greatly appreciate the comic styles of Jaleel White on "Family Matters" in the 1990s, I have chosen to use that particular question as the title of this piece because of the story, which almost supersedes itself.

Read with caution beyond this point because this gets verbally graphic: 

It was December 18, 2014. Over the past few days, it'd been sleeting and snowing. I was leaving my cousin's house, I was headed to Ashland, Virginia, and I was detoured for a few days. During the walk from my cousin's apartment to the train station, I had been talking to my cousin's boyfriend, (Robert) Bobby Elmer (34th generation of Elmer's glue creators), we'd been laughing, joking and cutting up as we walked. I'd been feeling great because I was 36 years old, the last time I'd been in weather like that (up and until that day) I was 7 years old, and I was fairing well on the slippery ground.

I had a suitcase on wheels, and it was crammed full of clothes and coats I'd gotten from the family members who I'd been visiting since a week before Halloween. It never occurred to me that the thing was too full, and that it could create a situation where I could get hurt from it being that full.

All of a sudden, the ground got slicker than I knew. The suitcase slid away from me (backwards), and I busted my butt. Somehow, I slid even further, which caused me to fall sideways. When I fell to the side, I heard this God-awful sound, which I later describe as the sound of a chicken bone being snapped in half, and my arm was not cooperating with my brain's command to move itself.

Thank goodness for Bobby because he helped me get up, and start walking again. In the process of crossing the street to walk the last few blocks to the station, Bobby saw his sister and her husband were driving down the same street we were on. He flagged her down, asked her if she'd take us the rest of the way, and she had no problems with helping us get there.

When I was trying to get the ticket my husband had set up for me (because I had no ID, Jeremy had to setup and give me the answer to a question he asked in order for me to get the ticket on my end), I felt like my sugar levels were dropping, and Bobby had to fish the paper with the answer on it out of my pants pocket. When the ticket master (so to speak) gave me the ticket, Bobby let him know that I might need to put a hold on traveling until I went to the hospital. The ticket was changed to an open ended one, and I had 30 days to use it.

Bobby had to leave so that he could help my cousin with some stuff back at the apartment. I went to the security guard at the other end of the train station, and asked if he could help me fashion a sling for my arm. I was determined to wait until I made it to VA before I went to the hospital, but when I realized the security guard was going to have to call the ambulance to get some material to make a sling, I didn't stop him from radioing in to the nearest bus.

Not 5 minutes later, I looked to my right, and there were several EMTs who were wheeling a gurney to where I was standing. They did not have to ask me if I wanted to go to the hospital. I laid down on the gurney, and said something to one of them about my sugar levels dropping. They immediately checked my blood, and my numbers were fine. What I'd felt was the urge to pass out when I moved my arm, but should have left well enough alone.

I explained what happened, they got me in the ambulance, and I was introduced to morphine for the first time in my life. Boy oh boy, that stuff caused me to feel no physical pain, and it made me goofy as all get out. When the EMTs got me to the emergency room, they got me to a room faster than if I had driven myself there.

The X-ray technician wanted me to straighten out my elbow (or do the best I could), so he could get a clear shot of my elbow for the doctor. I cried. When the nurse in my room was looking at the x-rays, she asked me if I wanted to see what I'd done to myself. I looked at the screen and I saw several cracks in the rotator cuff, and the upper bone of my left arm had been fractured so severely that it was almost a compound fracture.

I had to wait until the next evening before the ER surgeon could fit me into his busy schedule, but I went under the knife on December 19, 2014 to have 18 screws put in my elbow and a metal plate put on the humerus bone of my left arm. That was one helluva crazy experience, but it's a constant reminder that I'm still alive and kicking.

With that, I ask myself, "Did I Do That?"