So, Saturday, Irv was working overtime and fell off the back of a truck. He landed on his left arm and twisted it pretty bad, so they took him to the ER. He didn't break anything, and they weren't sure if he strained or tore any ligaments. Saturday he was in pain, but not immobile. We went out to dinner on Saturday night with awesome friends, and had a nice night. He slept well, and had a full day yesterday, including going out grocery shopping and puttering around the house. He has his arm in a sling sometimes, but I've been watching, and it seems like he has a full range of motion, with it being stiff and a little painful when he twists his wrist, and extends his elbow fully down. So, yeah, he hurt himself, but I'm starting to think he's fine, and that he strained it, or sprained his wrist. This morning, I caught him using the arm for leverage getting out of bed, and later reaching out and scratching the cat between the ears.
Today, I had to drive him all over the county to sign workman's comp papers, visit the guys at the job, bring them coffee, pick up his x rays from the hospital way out in Freehold. Soon, we'll be going off to a doctor's appointment. All morning, he's been talking about his arm, how he can start eating with it, and how he can wipe his butt with it, and how it hurts to do this-but-not-this and how he's beginning to get his range of motion back.
I'll drive him anywhere, and take care of anything he needs, and listen to everything, and I won't complain, except here. I'll admit. I'm a bit bitter. I feel like this weird little feeling that picks at the back of my brain when I'm feeling down is coming true. I feel like, sometimes, if I injure myself...whatever. But he did, and we have people calling and stopping by every damn day, and he's a hero for falling off a truck.
The point is, I tore my rotator cuff, narrowly missing a collision with an elderly driver, two years ago. I really fucked myself up, but I thought, at the time, "well, it wasn't a real accident, and I can live with the pain, I'll just baby it, and get through shit." And, I did. But, throughout the next 6 months, I re-injured it three more times, working out, doing day to day shit, hauling a milk jug out of the car, till the pain was unbearable, and I was all but crippled. 3 months of physical therapy, and two doctors said I'd probably need surgery in the future to fix it. If I didn't go when I did, I would have had to get the whole thing replaced. It still hurts, it's twinging and hurting right this minute, as I type. It's ok, and it's not extra damaged right this minute, it's just permanently fucked. They said it would never not hurt. I'm bitter. I didn't take care of myself properly, and no one forced me to go to the doctor, or showed any concern. I drove home from being out that day, when I got the accident, I went out driving the next day. I cooked dinner that night, and went grocery shopping that week, doing everything that one would do with their right arm, in varying levels of agony. I didn't sleep at night, rolling over on it had me waking up in a cold sweat, in tears. I still, two years on, cannot sleep on that side, lift heavy things, or use my arm in certain ways. Irv told me yesterday, that he really didn't get what I meant, when I tried to tell him all these things. His mentality was "you'll be fine, suck it up". He would chuckle at me, when I tried to get something down off a higher shelf, and pull the whole shelf on my head, and cry tears of frustration.
Last year, at the Faith No More show, I fractured my right heel. My heel was jet black and swollen for months. I didn't go to the doctor, because what are they going to do for that? I gulped even more Advil, and lived with it. Everyone in this house knew about it, and everyone saw. The best I got for the heel was an interested "hmm, that really is black, wow." And I drove and walked and took care of everything that needed to be taken care of. Climbing the flight of stairs to go to bed was like climbing Mount Everest, for the first few weeks after. I was really suffering, but what good would it do to complain or go to the doctor or anything? It's fine now, I healed fully from it, but it's a little stiff in the mornings.
I've broken my ankle, and sprained one three times, and the other twice. I've fallen down stairs, and landed on my coccyx, and I've torn ligaments in my left elbow.
Irv falls out of a truck and twists his wrist, and now everyone's exclaiming and cooing over him. It's a little difficult to feel...I don't know...the opposite of bitter, whatever that is, when he's like "look! I can move my fingers!". I want to say, "you were moving your fingers when you got home on Saturday." Because...he was.
The only thing, right now, that I can take from this is, hopefully, from here on out, he'll have a measure of empathy, if I hurt myself.
I think, next time, I'm going to really speak up when I damage myself, although the bitter part of me says that I shouldn't, and the very bitter part of me says that I shouldn't have to.
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