My foot isn't broken, thank god, although our doc was worried that it was. Maybe it was when he pushed in slightly right on top of my ankle bone and then had to scrape me - whimpering - off the ceiling. He wrote me out some orders and I toddled over to x-ray, where, three views later, I was pronounced intact. If my foot had actually been broken, I'm pretty sure I would have broken down and cried right there. That would have just been the cherry on the sundae. He doesn't think it's a tendon, which is also good news. The consensus seems to be a deep bone bruise. I can live with that, as long as it's gone by tomorrow.
It would be a big fat lie to say I was on my game today. Here's a perfect example. I had to mix two bottles of meds and then put them into a liter bag of saline for an IV drip. I drew my first bottle of meds up in a syringe and then went to inject them into a port in the IV bag. Somehow, I managed to put the needle itself through the bag and into my finger, so I stood there watching my bag spouting like a saline geyser and my finger dripping blood on the floor. A co-worker, watching in amusement, said, "And for her next trick...". Sigh. There wasn't even anything good in the med bottle I stuck myself with.
I managed okay (semi-okay?) at work because I had no choice, but now that I'm home I'm exhausted from dragging my foot behind me all day. And it hurts. It hurts enough that I just broke a cardinal medical rule and took two of the painkillers that Surfer Dude didn't take when he broke his wrist. By my calculations I have about fifteen minutes before I turn into the Loopy Correspondent.
In light of that...goodnight. And a happy - ambulatory - tomorrow.
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Posted by the rotten correspondent at 12:02 AM