Elbow saga continues…
I went for another checkup at Hadassah Hospital this morning. The doctor said that the current x-rays show an improvement in the round part of the elbow at the edge of the ulna, which originally went to kibinimat as is clearly visible in the x-ray below. But there is also a split of the bone a little further down which doesn’t show any signs of mending.
The doctor also said that I should come back in three months for another checkup, and if at that time, the bone hasn’t mended, I would have to have another surgery to remove the plate that is there now, clean up some soft tissue, and implant a couple of screws on that particular bone to help it along the mending process. Which ultimately means that the total number of surgeries I will have at the end of this ordeal would be three, because I assume I will need one more to remove the screws once the motherfucker decides to mend.
I asked the asshole why they didn’t screw in that split when I was knocked out on the operation table with my elbow wide open. He didn’t have a definitive answer.
I left the hospital depressed as hell. I mean, I didn’t expect it to be fully healed anyway, but I expected it to show signs. At least signs. An intention for healing.
During the holiday, I asked my dad about one of my cousins who had a bicycle accident some time ago. He suffered severe injuries to his hip and had to have his butchered leg amputated. He is now in a wheelchair waiting for a definitive answer regarding the condition of his hip to see if he can have a prosthetic leg. There’s a possibility that his hip may be in no condition for it.
My dad said that my cousin is in a deep state of depression and refuses to speak to him on the phone.
I thought to myself that if my elbow injury is enough to make me depressed, I don’t want to imagine what it would have been like if I would have been riding my bike just as the truck comes barreling down the street, and I would end up in a heap on the side of the road, unconscious, with a shattered hip and a decapitated leg.
So yeah, it could always be a hell of a lot worse. But remembering what it felt like after I woke up from my previous surgery, I’m scared shitless at the prospect of having to go through it again. And I’m still stuck with this metal plate that will not be going anywhere for at least the next few months.