I took off from work the Tuesday before Thanksgiving. I had planned to take Monday as well but offered to trade it for the Monday after Thanksgiving because the principal was going to be out of the building. On Tuesday, I got going early and while in the car decided to take my car to a dealership to have a service done. On the phone a few days earlier the girl had said there was no appointment necessary, and it would take about 45 minutes. That was so beyond the truth. She said to just say I wanted “maintenance,” and they would know that I meant a routine service for a reasonable price. Several times that morning, I asked myself why I did this today, what was I thinking, nothing is ever as easy it sounds. It’s a long story about the rep trying to talk me into a six hundred dollar service, spending so long there I finally walked to a Wendy’s for lunch, and ending with needing a 500 dollar brake job. From there, I went to the grocery store to get stuff Teresa and Elliott like. Then I went home and finished preparations for my 7:00 university class. After class I got home just in time to grab something to eat and then go to the airport to pick up the Goodwins. When we got home, we just sat and talked for awhile and eventually went to bed. I read for awhile, getting into the Twilight series. When I decided to go to sleep, I remember feeling a cramp coming on in one leg, and, worse yet, a Charlie Horse in the other. I thought, I have to stand up; that’s the only way to make this go away. I don’t know what happened after that. A couple of hours later I was standing in my bedroom in horrible pain and going to get Teresa up. The horrifying pain was between my right shoulder and neck. We both eventually fell asleep on couches in the living room. The next morning I called the Cancer Institute, and they granted me an appointment. I could get in the car, but I couldn’t do the seatbelt; and there’s no way I could have driven. In hindsight, always easy, I should have gone to my primary provider or at least an Emergency Room. The PA at the Institute decided there was something wrong with my port, which is in my right arm and probably runs through the area that was in pain and quite bruised by that point. She sent us to Summerlin Hospital Radiology department to get an ultrasound to make sure I didn’t have a blot clot, scary stuff. They said there was no blood clot and made an appointment to remove the port. At first, it was going to be the day after Thanksgiving, but then they moved it to the following Wednesday. I didn’t know how I was going to survive with the pain for seven more days, but I was glad I didn’t have a blood clot. For the next few nights, Teresa slept on one couch, while I slept on the other. I couldn’t have found a pain-free position in bed. The only way I could sleep at all was in the recliner on my couch. I couldn’t lie on either side due to the pain. I got through Thanksgiving by taking the pain pills I’d been prescribed for Shingles. Mostly, I dozed off and on. On Friday, I called the Institute again. They were closed but gave me the doctor on call. I was so completely bruised by then, it wasn’t funny. I kept showing Teresa, look there’s more blue, therefore, new blood around the outline of all the bruising, which completely covered from my collarbone and down and across my whole breast. The Institute doctor said it didn’t sound right, I should go back to Summerlin E.R., it sounded like something needed repairing on the port and then followed up by taking it out. Now, it sounded like I was looking at two separate procedures. We went back to the hospital. Teresa went in with me. Poor Elliott. Too bad this wasn’t the year for them to spend Thanksgiving in Reno, instead of Las Vegas. Anyway, I made a bet with Teresa as to the gender, looks, and age of the doctor I would get. We bet on male, good-looking and young. We got Dr. P., male, good-looking, and somewhere in between age-wise. Two out of three. He wasn’t overjoyed with me because I had nothing to divulge. I hadn’t been in a fight, I don’t walk in my sleep, and I had no memory of what happened to me. The girl came with the portable x-ray machine. Krista came. Susan came. I know how to throw a party. During this time, I kept coming up with the word “clavicle.” Don’t know where it came from, but I said that was what hurt. I even mentioned that I thought if I had a sling for my arm, I would feel better. Dr. P. liked me even less when he came back to say I had a broken clavicle and was I absolutely sure that I had the port implanted at that hospital. My first question was, “Can I go home, now?” Instinctively, I seemed to know that there was no treatment for a broken clavicle. He said I would be going home, but he wanted to take another x-ray to see if there had been a previous injury. My next question was, “Is it cancer?” He said he thought of that and that in his 20 years of practicing medicine, he’d never seen cancer cause a broken collarbone. He said the radiologist had concurred, and there were no signs of whatever they look for in the x-rays that indicate cancer. Right before receiving the results of the next x-ray, I was moved out into the main area to make my room available for someone who needed it more. Dr. P. came by, not happy, saying, “You are completely uninteresting, completely unexciting. Only you will know how you broke your collarbone.” I had asked him earlier, with his frustration, if he thought I was lying, like why would I lie about not knowing what happened. At that point, I thought, “Well, no one will ever know, because I don’t know.” Even in spite of everything, there were some funny moments. When I said my eyes were bothering me (You’d think that would have been a clue he would have jumped on, maybe looked in my eyes, ordered more tests, I don’t know, I’m not a doctor), he asked, “Are you seeing double?” Cute, since he knew Teresa and Krista are twins. At one point when all three daughters were in the room, he asked, “So, what are the relationships, here, daughters, granddaughters?” and off he went. This, I believe was very insulting to Susan, who actually was almost 17 when they were born. She pretty much turned on her heels and left. He made a comment that he knew he riled her. I think, by then, Susan was out in the waiting room, grilling Elliott as to whether she looked old enough to be their mother. Someone outfitted me with a sling, and we were on our way. Elliott returned home on Monday morning, as planned, but Teresa changed her flight and stayed with me two more nights. I really didn’t want to be alone, and accomplishing anything by myself was difficult. I stayed home on sick leave for the next week. When I called my primary physician and explained what had happened the guy on the phone, who was not the doctor, agreed maybe I had had a concussion, but as long as I had no other symptoms besides the collarbone pain, I should be fine and no need to come in. I felt great after talking to him. I forgot to mention that over Thanksgiving we had wondered why I didn’t seem to have any secondary injury. How could I have fallen, broken my collarbone, probably passed out, and not have anything else wrong. I found the bump on my head on Friday. It was on the same side as the broken clavicle and quite large. Then the Cancer Institute called and said I needed to have a bone scan and a brain MRI, just in case; I didn’t want to know just in case what. I said I would need serious drugs to undergo those tests. They prescribed two pills, one to take the night before and one to take one hour before. My son-in-law, Kevin, took on the duty of accompanying me on Friday for those tests. There’s always confusion. We had to be there early to prep and then come back later. We went there and then left for lunch and went back. The confusion was over why didn’t they have me go upstairs to the Infusion Room to access my port for administering the needed drugs. They finally agreed on that. I went upstairs. Mona accessed my port, and we came back later for the test. I took the pill one hour before the bone scan. I was feeling mighty fine when I went
in for that. The girl said it would take 25 minutes. I got on the table, closed my eyes, and the next thing I knew she was telling me we were done. Next was the MRI. I went in, and I went out. The pill had pretty much dissipated in its effect. The technician showed me the tunnel, the table on which I would have to lie down, and the helmet thing he would put over my head attached to the sides of the equipment. I said I’d need much more serious drugs to go through that. I couldn’t do it. He said I was among 20% of the population who cannot go through with it. Kevin was a good sport to put up with his ailing mother-in-law on his day off. Surely, he had better things to do. I tried wearing the sling, but it didn’t really help all that much. Let me tell you about a broken collarbone. There are a zillion things you can’t do because there’s little or no range of motion with the involved arm. I had pain from the collarbone all the way down the right side of my chest, moving toward the back; and my right hand and arm were of little use. I couldn’t move anything, carry anything, wash or fix my hair right-handed. Try pouring water into a coffee pot with the affected arm, turning off or on the water in the shower, grocery shopping, or typing on a keyboard. I slept on the couch in the reclining position for the whole next week. Finally, the night before I was going back to work, I told myself I’d better try sleeping in bed, or I was going to end up just dying on my couch. I had to prop up pillows to lie on and have pillows along my left side in case I turned that way in my sleep. When I went back to work, I wore the sling for one day. It just seemed to make matters worse. I learned to shower, get dressed, and drive the car relying on my left side. For weeks I was mostly discombobulated because everything was switched around. I couldn’t put my purse over my right arm, my keys were somewhere else because of carrying everything on my left side. But, here I am to tell about it. I’m mostly off Tylenol, which was the only way I could make it through any day. I don’t have to put the mouse on my lap and type left-handed anymore. It’s been about ten weeks now, and I’m getting there. I can carry groceries in, as long as I still don’t buy too much at a time; and I can take the trash out and throw it up into the dumpster. The last day of school before the holiday break I had to dress up in a Mrs. Claus dress, apron, and hat and walk the whole school with the principal, handing out candy canes. Terry had to help me in and out of the stupid dress; and I actually made it in better shape than the principal, who kept losing the stuffing that made him look like a roly-poly Santa. I believe the estimate for recovery is somewhere around twelve weeks. I know there will be recurring pain in the collarbone area, neck, shoulder, arm, etc., but I’m almost normal again, well, as normal as anyone can be who’s lived the last two years of my life.