I’m injured, and I Still Can’t Rest

I don’t do injured very well. In fact, I’m a miserable patient with no patience at all, especially when forced to take a load off at home.

I was reminded of this little shortcoming in my flowery personality this week when I did this impressive double twist on the daycare linoleum floor that would have garnered a 9.3 from the Italian judge if my feet in fact left the floor and were sporting skates.

As it stood, I was wearing boots that were wet from the rain outside, my tantrum throwing son was holding my left leg as he fell and my right one went out from under me and spun without the rest of my body following suit.

This was all further complicated by the fact that I had my right hip replaced nine years ago so the hip joint was weaker and much more prone to dislocation than your typical, run of the mill right hip joint of a 40-year-old.

As I felt my leg going out from under me and turning, time seemed to slow down. I clearly heard a grinding then a very clear pop in my hip, followed by a sharp pain and my knee slamming to the ground as I threw the rest of my body sideways in hopes of keeping my leg from going too far without me.

When time caught back up with me, I was sitting on the floor of the daycare holding my leg and crying almost as loud as my son. I couldn’t stand and I started to shake. I was so afraid I’d dislocated the hip.

I was lucky to secure a ride to the hospital where my Hubby met me. Several x-rays later they determined I’d not broken or dislocated anything. I had however severely sprained several muscles in my hip and it was going to take a few weeks before the pain would subside.

They sent me home with a bottle of oxycodone and instructions to ice my hip and rest.

Rest. Rest? (Insert hysterical Bellatrix Lestrange laughter here.)

How am I supposed to rest with two hyperactive children in the throws of boundary testing running around the house? My childcare facility is across the parking lot from my office, which is a 45-minute drive from my house. And I can no longer drive due to the shooting pains in my right leg and that afore mentioned narcotic. (Nevermind the fact that my car was also still parked outside the daycare.)

Hubby, bless his heart as there is a special place in Heaven for him, took the rest of the day off as well as the next day to entertain the kids (and arranged to drive across town with a friend who could bring the car home).

Unfortunately, mom laying on the couch in a drug haze and groaning is evidently a fancy invitation for young children to jump up and down on her, throw things at her and attempt to climb on her at all times.

Despite the frustration of being in pain while kids try to climb on me, fight just out of reach of me, and drive their daddy to drink, I find it exceptionally difficult to just sit by and do nothing. The house is in shambles around me, my hubby is going crazy corralling the kids, and I’m just laying there. I can’t do it.

So I end up trying to help, despite the pain, and am most likely extending my recovery.

And as much as I love the drugs, taking more than one every four hours made me puke. I wasn’t fully aware that the muscles you use to puke are attached to the muscles you shred when you do an Italian judge impressing double twist on the daycare floor. I’m aware now.

While I am sounding rather snarky (I’d blame the drugs if you didn’t already know I was snarky), I am eternally grateful for my hubby’s immense patience, which is greater than mine even on a good day, and the love of my friends. I’ve deeply appreciated the notes, calls and even the visit from one dear friend who brought me a wonderfully tasty dinner and some trashy celebrity skin magazines to help keep my short attention span drugged brain entertained.

If only I had the ability to just ignore everything going on around me in the chaos that is home and fully rest. Not even playing movies is keeping the kids calm for more than an hour. Sigh.

Alas, it’s just not meant to be.

I hope to be able to hobble into work again starting Monday. Who knows when I’ll be off the crutches. But I know there is just no way I can sit back, relax and let people wait on me, especially when they’re waiting on at least two others in this house at the same time.

Like this post? The saga of the hip that wouldn’t heal continues here.

Tagged as: injury