I didn’t know it at the time, it just ached and I figured it would go away. Nothing that some ibuprofen and a shot of good tequila couldn’t fix!
When it hurt like the dickens the next morning, in spite of my handiwork with the closest-thing-to-cardboard that I could find, and an ace bandage that Cindy bought for me, I was growing concerned. That afternoon, when we finally rolled into Alpine, I decided it was time for a visit to the ER. Although he didn’t need to, our friend Clayton accompanied us. As I clumsily dismounted the passenger seat of the bike and strolled into the ER flanked by two BIG “biker guys,” for a minute I wondered what people might be thinking.
The doctor complimented me on my make-shift splint as he unwound the dirty bandaging and laughed at the two postcards I had used as reinforcement. After x-rays, he said it seemed like torn ligaments. A sprain. He gave me a bulky splint, which felt quite reassuring, told me to follow up with an ortho when I got home, and sent us on our way.
My splint made it difficult to mount the bike, impossible to put on my own helmet and zip my jacket, but didn’t keep me from enjoying a dinner out at Reata, and a night at the Holland Hotel. Unfortunately, the next morning was windy, rainy, and cold. The ride home was tough, I broke a vent on my new helmet, and we were all freezing. But we made it, and had time for a little dancing, to boot!
I’ve since seen an orthopedic surgeon, I have a sexy black brace, and had an MRI yesterday. Although I can’t write, and I now have the table etiquette of a kindergartner, I’m getting a lot of “typing” done. It’s all good. So good, I think I’m going to make myself a Margarita. Or get someone to make one for me!