Shocking news, I know.
But I went out.
Candi's baby sister was in town so we clearly had to get her wasted. So we went out. And we got wasted and we needed to sing out our little drunken hearts so we went downstairs to sing some karaoke. And while I was up there crooning out a mediocre version of "Use Somebody" some dumbass guy decided to mop the floor.
Mop the floor so that when I triumphantly pranced off stage in my 6 inch heels I slipped and fell all the way down.
Oh yes. All the way. As in I was flat on my back.
And I felt a little twinge of pain that progressively got worse but the 9 drinks I'd had helped me numb that pain. Cut to an hour later, two more drinks and a shot of jager and I was teetering my way out the door. Went to Duane Reade, got snacks and trashy magazines, went back outside and made out with a random Irish man (much better looking than Samwise) then walked Candi to 10th ave to get a cab. Then went home.
Cut to the next morning when I wake up and try to get out of bed to get some much needed water and Boom. Blinding pain.
I find that I am completely unable to bear weight, or any slight amount of pressure, on my right foot without blinding pain. So I, being my crafty little self, manage to use the many piles of crap around my bed to get onto the floor on my knees and I half crawl, half drag myself out of the bedroom.
Mugwugs in the living room watching TV and I lay on the floor (because it hurts so bad that I literally can't go any further) and start crying and telling him I think I broke my ankle.
He doesn't even get off the couch.
He looks at me. Lying on the floor in agony and actually laughs. Because he thinks it's so funny. After what felt to be an hour of me lying there I finally realized there was no chance in hell that he was going to get up and help me so I asked him to at least roll me my office chair. Managed to pull myself up into it with a substantial amount of pain and roll myself closer to him.
He shrugs off my pain and starts watching a marathon of Locked Up Abroad.
Which isn't even that good of a show.
And he lets me sit there for 6 hours in agony until Siobhan can get off work and come get me to take me to the hospital. And it's not like he was ignorant of the pain. I can handle a lot of pain.. I have a lot of practice with all the injuries I've had and my fairly chronic joint pain. But I was in pain. I was so in pain that I was willing to go to the doctors. Now I am not someone who likes doctors. In fact I hate them. I would rather stay in bed with a 105 degree temperature than go to a doctor. I'd rather wait three days before going to a hospital to get my fractured wrist looked at. I'd rather take an advil than go see someone about the everyday pain I have. I don't like doctors. I don't like hospitals. I don't like them.
So when I say that I need to go to the hospital it means it's serious. It means it's bad. It means I feel so horrible that I will put aside my extreme hatred of all things doctorly to get whatever's wrong fixed.
It means I think I've broken my ankle.
So I tell him I need to go and I need someone to take me (hint hint) and he doesn't move. Doesn't offer to help. Says he'd put me in a cab and let me go alone.
Dear MugWug, if I can't get into a cab alone how the hell am I supposed to get out of it and into an ER alone?? Are you really this much of an uncaring fucktard of a human being?
So I sit there. For six hours. In pain.
He left to get lunch and gave so much lip when I asked him to pick me up something. I shouldn't be surprised. The boy wouldn't help me and my potentially broken ankle off the floor, why wouldn't he facilitate more pain through starvation? Clearly this is not someone who gives a shit about me.
So the very wonderful, incredible, awesome, super powered Siobhan got off of work at 4:30 and came over. She helped me out the door, down the stairs, into a cab, out of a cab, into a wheelchair, into the ER and, even though she was cutting into her very sparse free time between her jobs, she sat with me for an hour and a half while the doctors took my stats and felt my leg and she kept my mind on things other than how much my ankle hurt. And even though she had to leave before I got discharged she waited until she knew I was okay, I was going to get crutches and until the last possible second.
So I got x-rayed and poked and prodded and the doctors asked me all sorts of wonderfully awkward questions and then I got the results.
No break but a very serious sprain with some torn ligaments. I was told that it was good that I came in since putting any pressure on it for the next 7 days would be detrimental and would stop it from healing properly. So I have to stay off the leg for 7 days. Then gentle and gradual increments of weight can be applied. And they gave me crutches, but anyone who's had crutches will tell you... they are not fun. So when I'm at home I use my office chair to get around. It's got wheels and goes quite speedily along so it's easier. Plus I can carry things in my arms while I roll around.
Pretty much I'm a genius.
I'm saving the crutches for when I leave the apartment... which I haven't done yet because the stairs are really tricky and my foot is still too swollen to fit into any of my shoes. (except for my bright blue wilderness slippers which Siobahn and NP and vehemently told me they'd disown me if they ever caught me wearing them in public.)
So I've been home. For 51 hours. And I still had people over for Sunday Family Dinner yesterday (even though it had to be delivery pizza instead of home cooked goodness) which was nice but now it's just me. Me and hours and hours of Grey's Anatomy.
Oh.. and the asshole who couldn't help me off the floor.
So it's really fun times.
Really. Really. Fun times.
xxKK
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