Paradise Lost

Dem bones, dem bones, dem dry bones . . . .   Remember that old song?  It doesn't really cover dat da clavicle's connected to da shoulder bone!  And dat would be da problem right now.

As some of you have surmised, we're not on Isla Mujeres.  Oops!  The car broke down in Limbo, Arizona last Tuesday and we'll be there awhile.

Craig slid on sand in the street rounding the corner to our house on his bike last Tuesday and met the asphalt. He walked into the house drenched in blood and told me he'd had a bike wreck.  He was fine, but it really messed up his bike.  Alrighty there!  That tipped me off that he might be a little shocky.  After getting him into the shower to rinse off blood so I could assess damage, I saw this ugly bone sticking out of his shoulder and a huge gash in his head.  Uhhhhhh . . . OMG!  A compound fracture and a gash in the head.  I'm calling 911!  

(Note to self.  Call the cable company, add a landline, and go buy a phone today!  We threw all those pesky devices in the trash when we moved because we swore we wouldn't waste money on one of those ever again!  We didn't factor in that we live so far out in the sticks, our Verizon cellphones drop calls inside the house.)

Once 911 patched me through to the paramedics, they talked me down off the ledge and sent me back into the house to make sure he was still conscious.  He seemed lucid, so they gave me the option of driving him to Oro Valley hospital 15 minutes down the highway.  

  

On a positive note, we're now acquainted with the medical services in our area.  The folks at the local hospital are mighty friendly and caring compared to our nightmare experiences in Phoenix suburban area hospitals last December/January.  We were whisked into the ER with literally no wait.  The receptionist took his insurance card and driver's license and he was in a bed in no time.  After x-ray's and a CT scan on the head, the phone rang in the room.  I ignored it.  A nurse came in and told me to pick up because someone was calling me.  Seriously?  Who knew we were there?

We hadn't even gotten the results from the ER doc, so I knew we were in trouble when it was the orthopedic surgeon's office scheduling an appointment for 9 a.m. the next morning with instructions for Craig not to eat or drink anything after midnight.  Oops.

The good news is -- ta daaaa -- no head injury other than some staples to close the superficial gash.  The bad news is -- the clavicle.  Dat bone's no longer connected.  It's complicated. I can't explain technical details, but that sucker was sticking straight up, practically perpendicular, and there was nothing left to reattach it with screws.

Long story short, Craig had surgery late Wednesday after they got the special plate with the hooks.  Sounds rather medieval, doesn't it!  In a few months after that's healed, the plate has to be removed with another surgery.  If all goes well, he should be back to normal in six months.

So, no beautiful pics from our fabulous beach vacation.  We may try to take a few little trips around here while we wait.  I'd love to see Bisbee all lit up for Christmas, and the California coast, while crispy cool in the winter, is only a short day's ride away.

As one rather terse woman told me at a Happy Hour when we first moved to the neighborhood -- You're here now.  Buck up!  

LOL  (That's a story for another day.)