I wish it was the motorcycle that had the broken leg. Ole could fix that. Ole says he can fix anything but a broken promise, a broken heart and software. Unfortunately, he can't fix this either.
Two summers ago we didn't do much motorcycle riding in the summer because Ole had surgery on his leg due to an infection caused by poor circulation. He ended up in the hospital for a week before the surgery and then of course recuperation time afterward. We made it on our annual bike trip to Sturgis and the Black Hills that year, but it was extremely low key and we didn't get to do much riding.
Last summer we didn't do much riding due to my hip issues. I just couldn't sit on the back of the bike without being in a lot of pain. So riding was curtailed that summer also.
So this summer we were really looking forward to putting some nice relaxing miles on the bike with both of us being in good health and pain free, but I guess that's not going to happen.
We recycle our newspapers at our house. I stack them up in an old laundry basket and when it gets full Ole hauls them out to my car and I take them to town and dump them at the recycle center. Yesterday was the day the basket was full, I was headed for town so Ole was doing his job and was carrying them out to my car.
A couple of days prior to this I had been cleaning the garage, but hadn't quite completed it yet due to a number of interruptions that always seem to happen around here. I heard the phone ring, made a run for the house and kicked my garden shoes off at the bottom of the steps. They weren't in the middle - just kind of to the side. Yesterday Ole was carrying this basket of newspapers so couldn't see where he was going, missed the last step, tripped over one of my shoes as he tried to save himself and went down with a crash and a very loud yell. I came running from my car and found him splattered on the concrete floor writhing in agony and yelling that he'd heard his ankle snap.
How was I to get this 5' 14" (he always tells everyone he's 5'14" when he's really 6'2" - right K-Lo?) - anyway, this 5'14" 250-pound man up off the floor and into my car. I wanted to call 911 and get the rescue squad but of course he wouldn't have that and managed to somehow right himself and hobble to his truck.
Daisy (his german shepherd) is of course in a panic and making circles around him the entire time, trying to lick his face when he's down and sticking extremely close when he's finally up. There was no way she was going to stay home and not keep her grandpa in site at all times. So I got everyone loaded and off we went to the ER.
They took very good care of him, but of course it always takes forever. We got there shortly before 1 o'clock and it was almost 4 o'clock when we left. And there were only two patients in the waiting room when we got there.
His x-rays showed that he tore the ligament and several chunks of bone from where the ligament attaches to the ankle bone. He's scheduled to see an orthopedic doctor next week and I guess we'll get the ultimate prognosis then. But it more than likely will involve surgery to re-attach that ligament. My ex-son-in-law had the same thing happen, so Lovely Daughter remembers very well how the procedure goes. And you know, men are just not good patients, are they.
Ole was given orders to keep his foot elevated as much as possible and not to put any weight at all on his foot until he sees the surgeon. Yeah, well, you know how THAT's gone already.
My only saving grace at this point is to keep him drugged. Yes, People, I've become a pill pusher. The pain killers make him sleepy so if I keep giving him pain killers at least he won't be up wandering around like he shouldn't be.
At least I can't be arrested for this, right?