What hurts more? A broken bone or broken pride?

Guy Dossi

I’m fairly confident that most will agree that 2020 has not been the year we were all hoping for. And in a year that most of us would much rather forget, I got to add another unfortunate chapter. While most of you were asleep in the early hours of Monday morning, I was sitting in a Modesto hospital emergency room.

So, how did I get here?

After a full Sunday of doing nothing, the lovely Mrs. Dossi and I decided to go for an evening stroll around our neighborhood. Our walk wouldn’t be any longer than an hour, as I had plans to meet a buddy for a cigar around 8:30 p.m. We were just about ready to go on our walk and all that I needed to do was put on my shoes.

In our house, we have a sunken living room right by our kitchen. Our kitchen table and chairs border the two-step drop into that living room. As I sat down to put on my shoes at the kitchen table, little did I know that one of the legs of the chair was hanging over the step. As I sat down, I fell backwards and didn’t stop falling until I hit the ground below. I took inventory of myself and aside from some discomfort in my left arm, I figured I was all right. So, I got up, and we went for our walk.

After our walk I went to have a cigar with my buddy. But over the couple hours I was gone, my left arm began to hurt more and more. I could not extend my arm, nor could I bend it or lift it over my head. While driving home, the pain was so intense it was decided that a trip to the emergency room was in my best interest.

At midnight, the lovely Mrs. Dossi and I made our way to the emergency room to get checked out. I felt that the emergency room staff was happy to see someone who was there for something other than the coronavirus. The wait couldn’t have been more than 10 minutes and I went to get X-rays. And while the fall I took hurt, that was nothing compared to trying to maneuver my arm in different positions for the X-rays. It’s a good thing I was wearing a mask to hide the anguish on my face.

A few minutes after the X-rays were taken, the doctor walked up to me and said two words: “It’s broken.”

What hurts more? A broken bone or broken pride?

When I learned of my diagnosis, I figured I am on a short list of people who have broken their arms while sitting in a chair attempting to put on their shoes. There is clumsy, but I feel like I took it to a whole other level. I had my arm put in a splint at a 90-degree angle and was sent on my way home.

I’ve never experienced a broken bone before and, I’ve got to tell you, it’s no fun. I guess the one thing that makes this whole situation tolerable is having a nurse for a wife. She takes good care of me. And, it’s nice to know that I can flirt with my nurse without any negative repercussions.

Everything that I’ve seen as far as recovery time says four to six weeks. Maybe this is just the Vicodin in me talking, but I feel I’ll be back to using both arms again by the beginning of June.

So until then, my broken arm and I will just fantasize about the day we can finally play guitar again, give double high-fives and think of a time where we can sit in a chair and not fear of breaking another bone.

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