Over the Fence: Healing needed for fractures on all levels
In April, while walking from the living room to the kitchen, carrying something in each hand, I was involved in a collision with our 90-pound German shepherd.
The incident is now known among the family as "The Dog Crash."
I gather the sound of everything hitting the floor, including yours truly along with her blood curdling shriek, was spectacular.
The result of said crash was a blow to the head, courtesy of the brick fireplace hearth on which I landed, and a broken ankle, suffered from large animal entanglement.
I didn't know the ankle was broken until a few days later when I concluded that the application of ice and elevation was not helping, as it would a simple sprain.
So now I'm faced with a dilemma. My doctor husband told me we should go to the ER for an X-ray.
My first thought was, "That's where people go if they think they have the coronavirus."
I immediately rejected the idea of exposing both my husband and myself to this scourge. But I had to, didn't I?
We are determined to be among those at high-risk, so there was a real need to be careful.
Thankfully, I was able to reach my physician who told me I should go to a clinic providing urgent care and they could probably fit me with a boot.
I was really a candidate for a cast, but there was only one place in the system still able to provide them at this time, and that was far away.
We were about to find out that things had changed dramatically at the clinic since we last visited.
When we arrived, it was to find masked personnel outside flagging down cars to ask their purpose in coming. Most were picking up prescriptions.
Their information was taken and they waited in their cars while their orders were filled and brought back out to them. Those few who did have an appointment were asked if they had a cough or shortness of breath before they were allowed to enter.
When we arrived at the urgent care section, we were told that they now had shortened hours and it would be a long wait before they opened.
They seemed confused about how I should proceed. Several telephone calls were exchanged, but nothing was decided.
Fortunately, my primary care doctor was able to contact an orthopedist who sent a technician to fit my boot.
When the technician arrived, he found that there was no space available for him to work. The result was that he had to fit my boot while sitting on the polished floor of the lobby!
I felt, somehow, like I was caught in "The Twilight Zone." Nothing seemed real, yet it was.
There was a strange silence that permeated the clinic, and everything appeared to be happening in slow motion. This was not the vibrant place that had always been run with care and precision and that was, above all, organized. This was a foreign place, and like my ankle, it seemed fractured.
Is the clinic emblematic of society at large? I hope not. I truly feel that when this is over, we will be able to heal our fractures and return to the healthy, vibrant country we have always been.
Please keep that thought — and let's make it come true!
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