This is my continuing story about my experience of the treatment of a compound fractures.
After finally landing I realized that at least I had not broken my neck, my greatest fear. My sister and brother-in-law ran to find me at the bottom of the stairs. I had yelled out when first I realized that I was falling. My legs still positioned upwards, my face, part of my chest and hands the only things touching the floor at the bottom. I picked up my head from the floor. Blood flowed from my mouth telling all and me that I had apparently bitten my lip as my face hit my final destination. Kind of funny how we almost hope to see blood so we can say, “See! I am too hurt!”
It took awhile to finally decide that I could move forward. I crawled into the kitchen. My brother-in-law helped me to a chair. It looked as if I may have broken my ankle but most assuredly had broken my wrist, my right wrist. The bones pushed up against the skin. This was not something a band aid would cover. I would need treatment of a compound fractures.
I have to tell you here that I am not a doctor person. I just don’t go very much. It was clear to me though that this was going to cause me to seek one out.
My sister took me to an emergency care clinic. After ex-rays I was relieved to know that I had not broken my ankle as well.
“You are going to need an operation. We will schedule one for you later today. You should go to the hospital now and check in.” the staff at the emergency clinic told me.
“What?” All I could think of quite honestly was the cost. I, like so many Americans have no health insurance. My sister did not have home owners. My plight became daunting at that point as I sifted through thoughts of helplessness.
“How much will this cost?” my sister inquired. I could only sit there and cry.
“Well, it could cost anywhere up to eighteen, ummm, twenty one thousand dollars.” the aid replied.
I was in pain yes, but I was also distraught.