Separation
the state or action of moving, being apart
I won’t lie, even though it was *obvious* I needed medical treatment, I was less than thrilled about going to a hospital during the peak of quarantine season. And I think it’s safe to say… so was the rest of the world. The ER was eerily quiet and deserted. I was the only patient, so my X-rays happened almost immediately (after my pain meds were administered, thank GOODNESS).
I remember being terrified the results would come back with something broken, requiring immediate surgery. I also remember thinking about how embarrassed I was to have caused such commotion. This year had been so much already, the last thing we needed was to add this to the list. And the money it was going to cost! I was certain this was going to put us overboard, once I got out of surgery, recovery, physical therapy, and the rest. Not to mention the fact that I would likely need help dressing, showering, doing my hair, and maybe even opening my wine bottles!? And swimming? Biking? Running? It was all so overwhelming. This wasn’t good, not good at all. But let’s not forget, Megan had just received 2 doses of morphine…
The Doctor came in and assured me, no surgery was needed at this time. I had a shoulder “separation” and needed to see an Orthopedic within 48 hours. That was it. They disconnected my IV, wrote me a script for some pills, and sent me on my way. You gotta be shittin’ me smalls.
Rob got me home and in comfy clothes (we won’t discuss how painful it was to take off my kit) and immediately passed out. At this point, he was awake for 22+ hours after his night shift and responding to his wife’s Saturday morning emergency. My brother came over and waited on me hand and foot. Made me lunch. Brought me pills. Adjusted pillows. It was quite the team effort. Not to mention, my left butt cheek hurt like you wouldn’t believe when I sat down. (Later discovered this was called a bone bruise. Not cool, not cool at all.)
I made 2 phone calls the next day. The first, to my boss:
Yea, you won’t believe what happened. I need to go to the Orthopedic tomorrow. I’ll do what I can from home but I’ll be back on Tuesday. Yea, I know the timing isn’t great at all. I’m so sorry.
The next, to Denise (my favorite physical therapist):
Hey, I’m coming back. My hamstring is no longer the issue. We’ve got bigger fish to fry.
