So. I posted Saturday morning about the preparations to leave. It was so wonderful knowing that I was going to wake up in my own bed the next morning. I was very happy and relieved to know that I would see my husband soon. We all got onto the bus with the most insane driver we'd ever ridden with, loaded our luggage, then headed off to Heathrow. The drive was amusing. The driver felt that since he was bigger, he could kind of push his was over into lane changes, and he honked a lot. It was kind of weird compared to our normal bus drivers. Maybe he was a portent of odd things to come.
I had an e-ticket (unlike everyone else who had a physical ticket), so I went into the shorter e-ticket line. I shuffled along with everyone else and got to the front of the line. This is where my problems began. See, I checked in online, but I didn't print a boarding pass. I went to the little check-in kiosk and thought that it would print my boarding pass, but it told me that I could just get in line. Perfect, I got in line, and all was well. When I got to the front of the line, the lady doing passport security wouldn't let me go check in because I didn't have a printed boarding pass. Luckily, I had some back-up documentation that showed I was supposed to be on the flight, and that was fine.
I went to check in, and well... I just don't want to think about how it happened. It was all so fast. I was transferring my suitcase from the luggage trolley onto the conveyor belt to be checked in and wrestling with it a bit. I'm not sure if I dislocated my knee then fell, or fell and dislocated my knee in the process. It doesn't really matter, I suppose. I let out a rather blood-curdling scream and landed on the luggage trolley. I immediately had two security people around me asking me what happened and they called the paramedics. I tried my best to not scream and cry (it hurt like a son-of-a-bitch) while waiting. The found the person who was running our trip, Mary, and brought her over to me, and they all chatted and tried to keep me distracted while the paramedic was on his way.
20 minutes later (no, I'm not exaggerating), a very nice man on a bicycle came up and presented himself as the paramedic. He said that he could not relocate my knee, but he would give me some morphine and call for the ambulance to take me to the hospital. This is when I realized I wasn't going home, and while I tried to put on a stoic face, I was absolutely crushed. So, after 30 minutes and 4 other tries, he finally gets an IV in me. Now, if you know me well, you'll know my feelings on narcotics as pain relief. I don't like them, and I will avoid them it at possible. So I told him to please use the absolute lowest dose of the morphine he could. He started by saying the he would give me a half dose, but I eventually talked him into giving me a quarter dose, and giving me the other quarter if it didn't help enough. However, not 2 minutes after he gave me the first dose, the other paramedics (these ones with a stretcher and an ambulance) showed up.
Apparently, these two had a different certification or something than the guy who was on his own. They cut my jeans open (and I pleaded with everyone who was not a paramedic to NOT look at my knee. I know it doesn't look very appealing, and I can remain calm while others remain calm. If people look at my knee and freak the fuck out, well yeah, I'm probably going to freak out too.) Anyhow, my leg was pretty well numb from having sat on the trolley for almost an hour, and the morphine had started to kick in, so when they started manipulating my knee, I barely felt it. It felt like they just touched it, and my kneecap popped back into place. I felt
immediate and immense relief, and at that point, I wanted them just to put me in a splint then toss me on the flight. Unfortunately, that was not meant to be.
They told me that they did have to take me to the hospital, so they transferred me to a stretcher (actually, they just helped me up and I hopped over) and wheeled me out to the ambulance. Meanwhile, Mary said that she would stay with me and that the other folks on the trip would get home just fine. Mary took the luggage and put it into the "held luggage" area of the airport, then followed me out to the ambulance. They asked me about the dose of morphine I'd gotten, my medical history, and my address. One of the ambulance drivers was superbly amused when I told him that I was from San Dimas and had to explain to the other one why it was so funny. Finally, Mary got to the ambulance, and over an hour after I fell, I was on my way to the hospital.
Not much to tell here except that it was a 3 hour wait to see the doctor, an hour wait for the x-rays, and an hour to talk to the doctor and get my "treatment" all settled. Unfortunately, I'd picked a bad time to fall because normally, the treatment is just like the treatment here. They put your leg in an immobilizing brace, then they put you on crutches and send you on your way. Unfortunately, the "surgical appliances" department was closed, so they couldn't get me in a brace. My options were:
- Have them put me in a cast, then come back the next day for the brace. (This is what the doctor preferred.)
- Have them put me in a half-cast, then fly home the next day. (A half-cast is essentially a plaster splint. They put plaster up the back of your leg, then they wrap your entire leg up so it's soft on the front. The airlines will NOT let you fly with a full cast in case of swelling, but a half-cast is okay because it's mostly soft.)
Wait, I guess I forgot something there. The hardest part of the whole experience was calling and telling Chris what happened. However, he is, as always, completely awesome and found us a hotel for the night. I don't know what we would have done without him.
Anyhow, we made our way to the Sheraton, and by this time, it was 6 hours after the actual injury. I hadn't had a thing to eat or drink since 6am that morning (and it was 6pm at night by now), so we went to the hotel and immediately got some food. Now, just to set the scene, I'm in a red shirt, blue jeans that had been slit up to my thigh, have an enormous cast from my ankle up to my mid-thigh, and I'm on crutches. I've told Mary to go ahead to the restaurant in the hotel and I will wash up and catch up with her, and she agrees. Mary has a hard time slowing down, and I know that walking with someone on crutches has to be an absolute nightmare for her. So, I get to the restaurant, let the Maitre de that I'm with Mary, and hobble my gimpy ass over to her. I order a nicoise salad, to which the waiter responds, "That's all you're going to have?!" I don't know why that cracked me up. He brought out an amuse-bouche for me from the chef (I'm assuming someone felt bad for the gimpy person because it's normally only part of their multi-course meals.) Anyhow, the salad was stupendous, and I started to feel vaguely human again.
I hobbled back up to the room, rinsed out my undergarments as best as I could, then crawled in bed. I spent the next two hours mentally tossing and turning. I couldn't stop reliving the moment I felt that distinctive pop in my leg, and trying to figure out whether I could have prevented it. I was trying so hard to be strong but my temper was getting short and I just wanted to be home.
Anyhow, I guess I'll break it off there. I'll try to write about the airport and the flight another time. I'm mostly writing this for myself so I'll remember what happened, so I'm sorry if I'm more into giving a detailed account than giving an amusing account right now.
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