The codeine made my leg hurt less, but did nothing for my pride.

Hello Friends!  Today column is brought to you by (drum roll) Stupid Impulses!  Everyone, think back and remember one of your stupid impulses!

If there is one thing that we can all learn from how I spent my day it is that we must control our horrendously idiotic impulses.  If we don’t do this, then we end up in the ER racking up $2000 in health care charges for a sprained ankle.

My day started off nicely.  I woke up and said to myself ‘hmm, I haven’t worked out in a week, I think I will go for a run!’  I made a responsible and healthy choice.  Obviously I must have accidentally made the right decision because, as my immediately following actions will show, I am a fucking idiot.

So I popped on my running shoes, grabbed my mom, our two dogs, and my twin sister’s dog, and we all headed out for a run.  Only, once we got about 15 yards down our usual route we came upon a problem.  Someone's dogs had escaped, and were frolicking gaily about the road.  Now, if I had been alone I would have petted the lost dogs, checked their tags, and tried to trick them into following me back to their home.  But my mother and I were running with a 90 lb husky, a 70 lb shar pei and a 30 lb mutt, we wisely turned around.

This turn meant we were running down a super steep hill in our neighborhood.  Mom suggested we stop and just go home in case the dogs came across our path again.  Perhaps her motherly intuition warned her that my monumental idiocy was about to strike a terrible blow.  But I declined, I wanted to run, I wanted to get fit for Colorado, I wanted to feel good and fit.  I had a great feeling about running today.

Then, as we were running down the hill I had a monumentally stupid impulse.  The impulse to jump.  So I jumped, and then I jumped again.  I just felt so good, to be out in the fall running with my mom, I wanted to jump to express my delight.  I felt like I would leap and land on the back of the husky who would turn into a Unicorn.  And then I jumped again and rolled my ankle forward.  That’s right, I didn’t just roll it sideways, I rolled it straight ahead, like the captain of the Titanic rolled straight into an iceberg.

I went down hard, laughing because I was being stupid and I fell and it kinda hurt.  And then it hurt more.  And more, enough that my laughter was replaced with mild concern.  More pain.  More Pain.  HOLY MOTHER OF GOD OUCH.  I yanked my pant leg up, and was confronted by my ankle which was already larger than a golf ball and literally getting bigger as I watched it (which was disconcerting).  It was like a real horror movie, happening on my leg.  My mom jogged in place, waiting for me to get up.

“Mom…  ummm,” I said helpfully, not wanting to admit what was happening and make it real.
“What?  Are you okay?”
“My, umm, ankle, well uhhhh, look…”
“What?  Its… OH MY GOD.”

She took the three dogs and began to run home and get the car while I sat in the dirt like an idiot on the side of the road.  I congratulated myself for not crying and commenced worrying about gangrene.  Thoughts of getting my leg chopped off occupied my mind until a car came and I tried to get off the side of the road.  It was at this point I collapsed and several real tears fell from my eyes.  I couldn't walk to save my life.  God help me if zombies came.  The driver, and the car behind her, watched and then drove away.  Along with all the other cars filled with Stay-at-home-moms.  They may talk about how much they value neighborly concern, but they are lying like Bill Clinton.  Hypocrites.

Not only did they not help me, they glared at me while they drove by.  Probably for sullying the side of their neighborhood association road.  Way to be neighborly ladies, I‘m super glad we pay fees to be associated with you.  (To all you classy moms out there, who follow the community values you wish to see, props to you.  You will raise awesome children who will in turn try to make the world nicer.)

So my mom pulls up in my van, looks at my ankle and says, “We gotta go to the ER.”  Which I protested vehemently, because I am not insured right now.  So, after she convinced me that my leg could be broken and I shouldn’t be a complete idiot, she drove me to the ER.  I walked (haha, what a lie) through the door to the sight of an overweight desk-nurse.  My mom was parking the van.  The desk-nurse asked me if I would like a wheelchair, to which I replied "yes, please". I was shuffling along and holding the wall, the wheelchairs were 16 feet away.  Then she made me hobble to the wheelchair and set it up myself while she WATCHED.

Thankfully, I got into the wheelchair.  At this point an amazing nurse who referred to me as “My Little Kumquat” for our time together rescued me from the fat and lazy desk-nurse.  She drugged me, then made a splint out of this magical cloth that gets hard if you get it wet but still feels like cotton, after my x-rays had been taken.  I couldn’t have a cheaper ankle splint because my ankle, which was still the size of a softball, wouldn’t FIT in one.

Then the money man came.  Money man told me that I had to pay a $500 down payment for my ER visit.  I cannot accurately describe the look on my face, but I think it is equivalent to the face a 6 year old would make if her father beheaded a real My Little Pony in front of her at her birthday party.  He was a true gentleman, and said “Don’t worry, we can fix this, can you pay anything on it?  If you can't, that’s fine.” 

I gave him the contents of my purse, about $57.  He gave me a 5 minute speech about how impressed he was with my integrity.  He was pretty shocked I had tried to pay, since apparently most uninsured people just ditch the bill all together, which is probably why my bill costs so much.  So thanks for that all you assholes who skip out on your bills.  Then he gave me an orange sticker, which would let me leave without paying anything further.  Lastly, he gave me a phone number for a lady who would help me set up a payment plan.

Interestingly, I never got an actual bill, which was why I burst into tears when I was on the phone with this poor woman when she told me my visit, which only lasted 2 hours and involved 3 x-rays, was going to be about 2 grand.  She said about because she doesn’t know the exact cost yet either.  I'm not sure why my medical bill is a secret, but I am sure I could find out state secrets more easily than I can find out how much exactly I owe this hospital.  I find myself wishing this worked like Einstein Bagels, where if you don't get a receipt at the time of your purchase, you don't have to pay.

She calmed me down and offered me a payment plan after I explained to her that I was unemployed, broke, living off my parents, and uninsured.  Fun fact, unemployed people who need medical care must pay $100 a month minimum on their bills.  Where the hell is that money coming from?!  This caused a new wave of tears as I told her “I c-c-c-c-cant p-p-p-p-pay that-t-t-t, I don’t have a-a-a-a j-j-j-job.”  This was what made me actually cry.  It was not the pain of a completely annihilated ankle, it was the knowledge that I somehow had to pay this bill and the only thing I could think of was selling myself or my possessions.  And no one wants to buy my stuff.  I bought most of it used.

I feel really bad for this lady.  She has to tell unemployed people that they have to come up with $100 a month at least once a day, probably more.  I bet she makes people cry all the time.  I could tell she felt really horrible about it, I don’t think its fair that someone has to spend their days giving out upsetting information to sick people.  Thankfully, she told me I might qualify for a government program.  Boyfriend was a hero and confirmed I did by using his masterful research skills, since I was sitting on the couch in a pile reminiscent of the wicked witch of the west and rendered completely unable to do anything.

At this point my mother came back home from getting my prescription.  Mind you, this is the first time I have actually taken prescription pain killers.  When the horse fell on me I didn’t bother to fill the painkiller prescription, which was a mistake because I would have learned much sooner that vicodin makes me projectile vomit.  Thankfully, my wisdom teeth adventure enlightened me to that fact, so I got a nice prescription for codeine this round.  This drug is driving me nuts because I feel all weird and spacey and I am concerned that everything I say is annoying and kinda dumb.

Of course, everything I say could be kinda dumb because I very stupidly followed the impulse to jump while running with a 90 pound dog down a hill.  Also, I wrote this whole blog with the help of my painkillers, so if you find an error please tell me so I don’t look any dumber that I feel.

*Some of you may notice a bunch of edits to this.  I looked it over when I was not crazed from adrenaline and codeine and terror and it was... ridiculously awful.  If you hate edits, I'm sorry.