Fractured

Valentine’s Day at Atlantic Beach this year turned out to be far different than we expected.  We had just enjoyed a four-day visit with Martha’s brother Scott, the first time we have ever had a guest with us here in the condo, and it was a good visit, sharing old family stories and introducing him to some of our favorite restaurants and places to see.  The day he arrived, we took him to Fort Macon and learned that he enjoyed local history as much as we did.  Sunday, our one sunny day, we had a chance to walk on the beach and Scott found some shells and sharks’ teeth.

That afternoon, we went to the Beaufort Historical Association’s Annual Valentine Party and visited the pretty Beaufort waterfront, then drove out to Harker’s Island to the Core Sound Waterfowl Museum.  Monday, we visited the Aquarium at Pine Knoll Shores.  And on Tuesday, we took the ferry to Oriental, eating lunch at one of our favorite places, The Silos Restaurant, and then drove back for dinner at another favorite place, Amos Mosquito’s, before he left left for home on Wednesday morning.

The next day, we were anticipating a romantic Valentine’s Day dinner at another favorite restaurant, On The Rocks.  I had been feeling fine the past two weeks, increasing my mileage to 12 miles the week before Scott’s visit, and that morning I had a good workout at the Sports Center in Morehead City.  As it turned out, that would probably be the last time I would lift free weights or run for who-knows-how-long. 

We still don’t know the exact cause, but Thursday evening I began to feel nauseous.  I went to bed early, and thinking I might disturb Martha I slept in the guest bedroom recently vacated by Scott.  In no time at all, I found myself dashing to the guest bathroom and vomiting violently, and this continued throughout the night many, many times.  At one point, Martha found me on the floor barely conscious (I have since learned the word syncope), struggling to get to my feet again, and somehow amid this confusion, I must have fallen hard against the bathtub, toilet, or floor.  Martha had 911on the phone during the night, but I urged her to wait until the next day to visit the Urgent Care or the Emergency Room.  To make a long story short, Friday found me in the ER at Carteret Health Care, where they treated my nausea (which thankfully had subsided by then), and also found that I had fractured three ribs – numbers nine, ten, and eleven - in my lower back on the left side.  In addition to X-rays, they ordered a CT scan to insure no internal organs had been punctured.  I was released after five hours, and I have to say that without any exception all of the personnel, from the physicians to the nurses to the orderly who wheeled me in for the CT scan, could not have been more caring and professional.  

Martha contacted close family and friends and posted an abbreviated version on Facebook, and I was gratified for so many prayers from family and friends.  One of the most encouraging comments was from my old friend Dr. John Baumrucker, who said, “Six weeks and he will be fine.”  What a long time that seems to me!  But that time-frame is corroborated by the many articles I have read since then about rib fractures.  There is little that can be done to hasten the healing process – as one of the RNs said in the ER, the current treatment is to let the patient “just ride it out.”

So that is what I am doing:  riding it out.  I am slowly learning to accommodate to that painful area of my lower back, which has begun to display an ugly black-and-yellow bloom of a bruise.  I can stand up and sit down a little easier every day by learning to keep my back straight.  Lying down in bed is very painful, though, but thankfully my Saint of a wife, who has treated me with even more patience than usual, found a local business that rents lift recliners, which I have slept comfortably in for the past two nights.  Day by day, things are improving.  My appetite has returned, and following the advice of several physical therapists whose articles I have read, I am trying to move as much as possible, walking that fine line between pushing up to the pain (but not beyond it) and doing too much.  Baby steps.

And short-term goals.  We cancelled our reservations at On The Rocks, but I determined that we will not cancel those at The Island Grille for February 23, celebrating my 76^th birthday.  This afternoon, I walked up and down a corridor outside the small exercise room here at the condo, and then went inside and lifted five- and ten-pound weights in as many different ways as I could without causing pain.

Among the many lessons I have learned from all of this is, first and foremost, my gratitude to friends and family, my daughter (who offered to come here to help out), and especially Martha.  So, I suppose in a way it was a more rewarding Valentine’s Day than a nice dinner at On the Rocks, because I rediscovered the gratitude and forbearance and patience that are the hallmarks of a life-long love.  Thank you, Martha!  And in learning how to maneuver myself into and out of the passenger seat of our Honda, and how to sit and stand, I have a renewed appreciation for good health and fitness.  I wrote to our daughter on that first day back here in the condo:  “I have a renewed appreciation of how difficult it is to live with chronic pain, like you and Scott and Anne have for years.”  And she replied with a quote attributed to Robin Sharma:  “Good health is a crown on the head of a well person that only a sick person can see.”

Now the long struggle begins.  Will it really be as long as six weeks?  And will I “be fine?”  But as the title of this blog reminds me, I am a runner.  I have been in this place before.