Ha. ha. ha.
On Saturday, our guys had the late game and since I
I knew immediately that my poor little string bean had been injured in the rather unfriendly, not-very-Christian basketball game. My heart sank when he told me it was his knee... my dad has had knee problems his whole adult life, and all of a sudden I pictured Jonathan at 50 with fake knees and a cane. Wonderful.
Long story short, Jonathan had taken a charge from some big guy, whose gigantic kneecap had slammed into Jonathan's kneecap and knocked him to the ground. As soon as he limped in the door I could see how swollen it was, so I threw on a hoodie, tried (unsuccessfully) to make my half-wet hair look less ridiculous, and put my little cripple in the car.
Thus began our ER trek... I guess every couple has to have just one. I'm just glad ours has taken almost three years to arrive.
Oh, and we stopped at McDonald's on the way there. Because isn't that what you do on the way to the hospital... stop for McNuggets? And no, I didn't track those points... don't judge me.
How I felt both about the injury and being in public with my hair HEI-nous.
Wince, grimace... yes. It hurt.
Let's wrap up that unpleasantness.
We got to the ER around 10:15 and walked to the wrong door... TWICE (our hospital has some very confusing signage, which I may be writing a strongly-worded letter about very soon since we were hobbling around the parking lot in the dark while Jonathan-the-Gimp tried not to pass out because his impatient wife was supporting his fragile weight/running to find a door because she is maybe definitely scared of hidden assailants.)
Oh, and this was all while ear-splitting SCREAMS were coming from an undisclosed location... as they got louder and (!!!) closer we realized they were coming from an approaching police car, which quickly turned in to the ER entrance. We had literally been able to hear this woman screaming from a mile away. Terrifying.
So, we joined the other
We only had to wait a few minutes in the express care clinic, although I was now further annoyed, having had to move the car for the FIFTH time since we arrived at the hospital. And, since Gimpy just insisted on being dropped off at the door (why?) I had to walk/sprint across the dark and vacant parking lot to the safety of the clinic. (Safety because I'm pretty sure the nurse that checked us out could have taken on a small guerrilla army.
Watching 24 while waiting on the doc. What better to lift your beat-up spirits than the violent justice dealt out by Jack Bauer? (Hence, I have a fear of hidden assailants.)
Our cool PA from Boston. Can't remember his name, but I want to say it was Bill. He looks like a Bill.
Very good? Why not just shoot for excellent or something? Sorry, the concise side of me was annoyed by the sign.
After a quick exam (because Bill wanted to get home, I suppose) and some x-rays, we were sent home with crutches, a knee immobilizer, and some pain medicine. A quick stop at Walgreens for the medicine and an ice pack (because apparently a bag of frozen broccoli wasn't going to cut it... who knew?) and we were home just after midnight.
Cutie on crutches. (I'm slapping myself for you for saying that.)
So, from this little crisis I've learned that Jonathan is soooooo much more of a trooper than I am. I'm pretty sure I would have alternated icing, resting, whining, rinse, repeat for the past two days, but he has for the most part just gone on. (Much to my annoyance, since he's supposed to be resting and I keep catching him hopping around on one foot.) Also, I didn't realize how much he did around here until he became "lame" (literally, not figuratively.) As in, he fixes lunches, he grabs things for me all the time, he plugs in my straightener in the morning before I get up, he drives (I hate driving), etc.
Now I have to do it alllll and I am so thrilled to serve but I will be a little more grateful for my extra pair of hands once he is back up and around (which, I hope, is very soon. My Diet Sunkist isn't going to pour itself.) =)