Fast forward to 2 am . . . And I finally was being moved to a room . . . Sort of. I was moved to what Harborview calls boarding. To me, I think small crates on the wall with howling cats and dogs. Well, I was almost on track, except the crates are curtains and the cats and dogs are triaged convicts and . . . Well me! :)
My "room" was a corner in a lesser used triage room (resus 4, short for resuscitation room 4) with a curtain and a Bed number (2). My personal area was actually storage of crutches, walkers and other orthopedic devices (foretelling . . .). It was darker and quieter and that made me happy, the snoring neighbor, not so much. The first words out of my mouth were asking or earplugs. I don't even know how to transition into the next part, because it was the worst part of my entire stay. Rewind to that sheet tied around my hips, still on. I needed to be transitioned to a new bed, with a new sheet, minus my handy sheet. The nurses tell my mom and stepdad to wait outside until they can move me. I'm no fool, when they tell parents to leave, you should expect pain. I am suddenly surrounded by 5 people. 5 people. I am not a big person. I'm 5'2" and about 138 lbs (yes, I just wrote that). My point is, the parents left and I'm surrounded. Sharon, my new nurse looks at me and says that I need to be moved to the new bed and in that process I need to be untied and have my cut up pants, glass and trusty sheet removed from me. And. . . . It was going to hurt. A lot. They give me two vials of Dilaudid.
I'm in a quiet dark room, and told I am about to be in pain. They untie my trusty sheet and the a nurse, Shaun, looks at me and says, on your count. I ask him if I can hold on to him. Holding onto things helps me feel a tad bit of control (rewind to being extracted) and if I am going to be in pain, I want to have a little control. I count, one, two, three and the roll me on my right side. I dig my hands into Shaun's arms and bury my face into his chest. As I rolled, my broken pelvis shifted and I experienced the worst pain I have ever experienced. Ever. Ever. Ever. As they very quickly wipe my back, pull the pants, glass and sheets, I am begging them to stop. Begging. Worst pain ever. Sharon is apologizing telling me she is almost done, and I am back on my back.
Sharon then gently grabs my face and says, we have to do the other side. I looked at her and said, please don't. I can't handle it. I would rather have glass in my back for the rest of my life than do that again. She says, okay, on your count. I sat there. She said on your count . . . And I sat there. I'm not crazy, why would I count down to THAT again? No way Jose. No way. She looks at me, and I say, if you are going to do it, you have to count, cause I can't.
As she starts to count, one of the nurses asks if they a going to two or three. Seriously? This couldn't have been the first time for this, and what would you have gone on, if I had counted? Three. One, two, three. Please stop, oh my god, please stop, I can't handle this. Please, please please, please. And I am on my back again. Never again. Never. I am not ever moving again. I believe the entire ordeal was maybe 2 minutes, including my tantrum in the middle. Another vial of Dilaudid, probably to keep me quiet.
I did however need to be moved again, to the new bed. I am still attached in traction during all this as well, I might add. This move is much less eventful and standard, including moving the traction device. I get all hooked up to my machines and am tucked in. My mom and step dad were invited back in and I said goodnight. They will be back in the morning and I will call them when I know what time my surgery is.
I am woken up by a very nice looking guy with arms the size of my thighs. Dr. Krieg. My pelvis team lead. Yup, I have a pelvis team. Asked if I ate after midnight, I said no, and like a Chinese fire drill, I was off to surgery. As I was whisked away, I threw my arms up in victory, because after last night, I would do anything to never feel that pain again. (Apparently not everyone is as excited as me to be hauled to surgery)
The surgery wing was like Oz to me. Green and magical. The nurses were so pleasant and funny and big armed surgeon signed my leg with a smiley face. My anesthesiologist was super nice and I have never been so happy to be drugged and off to sleep so a team of pelvis doctors could fix me. Off I go...
I woke up in Oz two hours later. Traction was gone, replaced with a full leg brace. I learned I was now the proud owner of an 88 mm screw in my sacrum (that's approximately 3.5 inches, for those counting) and that I have multiple fractures in the pubis and ischium bones. I also learned most of my petite little bones were too small to fix, so they get to heal all on their own. Fun times, although it does mean a little more pain than if they had been able to fix it. Boo.
A short while later, I was wheeled out of Oz and back to my cubby, aka Resus 4, bed 2. Wah...wah. Despite my zero star accommodations, I had a pretty good day. I had tons of visitors who brought me food, activities and flowers. That night after everyone left, I was laying there and my convict neighbor asked me if I wanted half of his cookie. I don't know how everyone else feels, but offering half your cookie to a person is a pretty big deal. And while I declined, it made me smile and just showed me that while I'd rather not be in a hospital bed with a broken pelvis, I still had a million things to make me smile.
I don't remember the exact moment that I had a conversation with myself about this situation but I know it was early. I made a decision to look at the positive in this. I am alive, I have, in the grand scheme of potential injuries from car accidents, pretty minimal damage. Does a pelvis fracture hurt? Hell yes? Is figuring out how to maneuver and get around hard? Yup. But I just feel really grateful to be here still. Very grateful.
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