The Misadventures of a Defective Paramedic

Can't Sleep, Camouflaged Masses Will Eat Me

I had a nifty loft apartment on the East End (the "Good Part") of Louisville. I was a 15 minute drive from two malls, where I would go to worship bi-weekly (on payday). I was five minutes from a Border's bookstore where I would worship more frequently. There was a Starbuck's and a Kroger that sold sushi three minutes down the road. I had Steak 'N' Shake and White Castle at my disposal 24/7.
Then, I made the mistake of deciding I hated working in the city. I applied to, and was subsequently hired by, a service an hour west. In the boondocks. Life was good. I had my nifty apartment, a job I really liked, and a cat to keep me company. Then I allowed a boyfriend to point out that I was driving 50 minutes, each way, to get to work. Even worse, he had to drive 50 minutes to see me. Believing that love was in the air, I allowed him to corral two of his closest friends and move me to a duplex on a dead end road. Little did I know what I had gotten myself into.
I grew up in Northern Indiana, and have never really been a city girl, but these people made me look like Michigan Avenue. I was suddenly immersed in a culture of camouflage, pickup trucks, and chewing tobacco. While I consider camouflage a crime to fashion, that was only the tip of the iceberg. The official Wal-Marting uniform is baggy t-shirt, flannel pajama pants, fake Crocs, and uncombed hair. I was surrounded by Glamour Don'ts. I couldn't spit without hitting some poor child in a "Git 'er done" shirt. "Have you no pride?" I want to yell. It's not that hard, nor is it terribly time consuming, to take a shower, put on some blue jeans, and find a shirt without motor oil stains on it. I did it, and so can you.

Another Day, Another Doctor

Due to the pain, I took my hand specialist's advice and went to see my family doctor to investigate the abnormal bone scan and alleged wrist fracture. He poked and prodded my wrist, occasionally making me yelp. "Yep, probably a fracture in there," He declared. "How'd you do it?" Well, therein lies the mystery. "I don't know," I mused, "Maybe a fall during the ice storm?" That didn't make sense, though, that was almost two months ago. He handed me more prescriptions to stop the sneezing and wheezing, and I headed down to the basement for my x-ray. After the pics were snapped, the tech assured me I'd hear from the doctor tomorrow or Monday. I gathered my stuff and headed to Culver's for a Butterburger (mmm...Butterburger). As I inhaled the salty, greasy goodness and enjoyed the free wi-fi, it hit me. No pun intended.
It was about three weeks ago and I was doing laundry. The cat litter box sits across from the dryer and there is sometimes (read: usually) litter scattered around the area. I was taking my load out of the dryer and wanting to avoid the cat litter and too lazy to walk around the door, I was leaning over the dryer door. When you're 5'2" and trying to reach over the dryer door to get the socks in the back of the dryer, it's bound to happen. And it did. Ass over elbows, I went over the dryer door. I was doing my best to not ruin the dryer, and it all happened very quickly. By the time I was reoriented. I was sitting in the cat litter box, a bruise already forming on my thigh. I looked around. I knew I was alone, but I still couldn't help wonder if anyone saw my acrobatics. The cats were staring at me, and no doubt wishing I'd get out of their litter box. I brushed myself off, changed my pants, and quickly did what I should have done when I first got the dryer. I switched the door to the other side.
So here I sit, a hot Friday spent with an ice pack on my wrist and a bottle of Advil by my side. I'll be awaiting the results and further instructions.

Today, Not so Great

Today I went back to my doctor at Kleinert and Kutz  for my bone scan results. Diagnosis: nada. Apparently my right arm is perfectly normal (or not, as normal arms don't hurt all the time) BUT there may be a slight fracture in my left wrist area. I guess this would explain what I thought was "Blackberry-itis." When or how I may have fractured my wrist is beyond me. I'm also going to go a bit further and guess that stress fractures in the wrist are pretty rare. But, I'm no doctor.

So, all this leaves me at the end of the line. I will go in for a "functionality test" to determine the extent of the disability. After that, I either go back to being a paramedic or I find a new career. I'm thinking I don't have much time to get really good at blogging.

After my ill fated doctor visit, I headed to my favorite comfort spot, Sephora. I really only meant to return some makeup that didn't go so well for me. I did that, then bought some cinnamon bun flavored lip gloss and nail polish with the moniker "Queen of Everything." Like I could resist that. Sephora does get snaps for spotting me a free sample of some really expensive tattoo covering make up. Just a warning, kids, tattoos are expensive and difficult to hide, no matter how you do it. Think once, think twice, then wait until you're thirty, then think again, ask your mother, then if you still want one, Godspeed.