Thursday, December 29, 2005
On Being Injured
I saw my kneecap yesterday.
I don't mean that in the "I had X-rays done of my leg and they pointed to my kneecap and said 'That, Brian, is your kneecap.'" way. I don't mean it in a way that the doctor held up a model of a human knee, pointed to the patella and said "This is what your kneecap looks like." No, I SAW my KNEECAP.
It was kinda yellowish.
Let me back up.
I work, as most of you already know, at FedEx Ground where we ship packages...on the ground. On Wednesday, one of my workers didn't show up, so I was stuck loading a set of three trucks. Of course, since the trucks are a little ways off the ground, we all work on elevated docks made of steel gratings. On my way to put two packages onto a certain truck, I tripped and fell; and all two-hundred-forty-some-odd pounds of Evil Brian came crashing down on my left knee, and my left knee right onto the steel grates.
Although I was wearing double-knee work pants at the time, it was like a knife through raw hamburger.
I screamed. LOUD. The conveyor belts were stopped immediately, and my fellow managers came rushing to my side. In order to apply some sort of bandage to my injured knee (the extent of the injury was unknown at the time, but bandages are always good), one of the managers cut the leg off my pants (which really pissed me off. I just bought the freaking pants! They were brand new! Fuck.) And I caught a quick glimpse of a crescent moon shape where my knee should be. I would not look at my knee again until the stitches were all done.
9-1-1 was called, and I was rushed off to the hospital as quick as possible (I exclaimed to the medic that I felt like a redneck in an airplane. "I ain't never ridden in no am-boo-lance befo'!" Hey, I had to keep some semblance of a sense of humor, otherwise I might've vomited and passed out.) Let me tell you, if you ever have any kind of injury on the job, call an ambulance, because instead of waiting in the emergency waiting room for hours on end staring at the old bag secretery, I got to look at cute, young nurses and get seen by a real doctor right away.
They had to put my knee back together with TWO layers of stitching. They shot my knee up WAY the fuck full of novacaine beforehand (and that lasted until almost 6 hours later), stitched me up, took some x-rays and showed me my new best friend/greatest tormentor:
(note: not my actual legs. Mine are waaaaayyyyy sexier)
It is called an immobilizer. It is, basically, a soft cast made out of foam rubber, elastic, velcro, and 5 separate steel bars. This keeps me from bending my knee, thus allowing the stitches to set and heal. I get to wear this fucker for TWO WEEKS. Usually, on my job, I walk an average of 15-20 miles a DAY. Now, I am reduced to hobbling around 1...MAYBE 2 miles a day.
What? Of course I went back to work. That's where my car was. But I also stuck around a couple hours and helped with some remedial bullshit. Until noon. Until those shots of novacaine started wearing off.
Then I headed to my car. And I cried.
I CRIED.
The pain was VERY intense, and the wound had continued to bleed under the immobilizer (the inside of which is now about 40% rust-colored). And what pain-killers did they prescribe me? Codeine? Vicodin? Oxycontin? Hell no.
Aspirin. That's all, just aspirin. Well, that and antibiotics, but THOSE DON'T HELP THE PAIN.
I rushed to the pharmacy, picked up about $40 of bandages and pain-killers, and drove the fuck home to attend to my wounds. I took the immobilizer and bandages off, and it was BAD. Texas Chainsaw Massacre remake bad. So, having nothing else to clean the wound out with, I used what I had on hand. 91% Isopropyl Alcohol. That shit doesn't disinfect, that shit BURNS WHAT IS ALIVE AND SALTS THE FUCKING SKIN so nothing may grow there again. Oh, the pharmacy HAD pussy-ass 60% alcohol, but I don't need that watered-down shit. I want to soak my injuries in GRAIN -THE FUCK-ALCOHOL. After putting the fire out, I rewrapped my knee in a new, awesome bandage and reapplied the immobilizer. I then took about 6 aspirins and two shots of NyQuil and passed the fuck out.
And that brings me to where I am today. I showed up at work, and everyone was impressed/horrified. You see, us FedEx managers GET sick days. It's just an unwritten rule that we don't USE them. But the package handlers don't know that. I'm gonna be on light duty until I get the stitches removed in another two weeks, so I don't have to load one motherfucking box or move one truck (I can't climb into any of the cabs) until then. The sweetness, it fills me.
Busted open my knee on Wednesday, back to work on Thursday.
Don't you dare say Evil Brian isn't fucking hardcore.
|
I saw my kneecap yesterday.
I don't mean that in the "I had X-rays done of my leg and they pointed to my kneecap and said 'That, Brian, is your kneecap.'" way. I don't mean it in a way that the doctor held up a model of a human knee, pointed to the patella and said "This is what your kneecap looks like." No, I SAW my KNEECAP.
It was kinda yellowish.
Let me back up.
I work, as most of you already know, at FedEx Ground where we ship packages...on the ground. On Wednesday, one of my workers didn't show up, so I was stuck loading a set of three trucks. Of course, since the trucks are a little ways off the ground, we all work on elevated docks made of steel gratings. On my way to put two packages onto a certain truck, I tripped and fell; and all two-hundred-forty-some-odd pounds of Evil Brian came crashing down on my left knee, and my left knee right onto the steel grates.
Although I was wearing double-knee work pants at the time, it was like a knife through raw hamburger.
I screamed. LOUD. The conveyor belts were stopped immediately, and my fellow managers came rushing to my side. In order to apply some sort of bandage to my injured knee (the extent of the injury was unknown at the time, but bandages are always good), one of the managers cut the leg off my pants (which really pissed me off. I just bought the freaking pants! They were brand new! Fuck.) And I caught a quick glimpse of a crescent moon shape where my knee should be. I would not look at my knee again until the stitches were all done.
9-1-1 was called, and I was rushed off to the hospital as quick as possible (I exclaimed to the medic that I felt like a redneck in an airplane. "I ain't never ridden in no am-boo-lance befo'!" Hey, I had to keep some semblance of a sense of humor, otherwise I might've vomited and passed out.) Let me tell you, if you ever have any kind of injury on the job, call an ambulance, because instead of waiting in the emergency waiting room for hours on end staring at the old bag secretery, I got to look at cute, young nurses and get seen by a real doctor right away.
They had to put my knee back together with TWO layers of stitching. They shot my knee up WAY the fuck full of novacaine beforehand (and that lasted until almost 6 hours later), stitched me up, took some x-rays and showed me my new best friend/greatest tormentor:
(note: not my actual legs. Mine are waaaaayyyyy sexier)
It is called an immobilizer. It is, basically, a soft cast made out of foam rubber, elastic, velcro, and 5 separate steel bars. This keeps me from bending my knee, thus allowing the stitches to set and heal. I get to wear this fucker for TWO WEEKS. Usually, on my job, I walk an average of 15-20 miles a DAY. Now, I am reduced to hobbling around 1...MAYBE 2 miles a day.
What? Of course I went back to work. That's where my car was. But I also stuck around a couple hours and helped with some remedial bullshit. Until noon. Until those shots of novacaine started wearing off.
Then I headed to my car. And I cried.
I CRIED.
The pain was VERY intense, and the wound had continued to bleed under the immobilizer (the inside of which is now about 40% rust-colored). And what pain-killers did they prescribe me? Codeine? Vicodin? Oxycontin? Hell no.
Aspirin. That's all, just aspirin. Well, that and antibiotics, but THOSE DON'T HELP THE PAIN.
I rushed to the pharmacy, picked up about $40 of bandages and pain-killers, and drove the fuck home to attend to my wounds. I took the immobilizer and bandages off, and it was BAD. Texas Chainsaw Massacre remake bad. So, having nothing else to clean the wound out with, I used what I had on hand. 91% Isopropyl Alcohol. That shit doesn't disinfect, that shit BURNS WHAT IS ALIVE AND SALTS THE FUCKING SKIN so nothing may grow there again. Oh, the pharmacy HAD pussy-ass 60% alcohol, but I don't need that watered-down shit. I want to soak my injuries in GRAIN -THE FUCK-ALCOHOL. After putting the fire out, I rewrapped my knee in a new, awesome bandage and reapplied the immobilizer. I then took about 6 aspirins and two shots of NyQuil and passed the fuck out.
And that brings me to where I am today. I showed up at work, and everyone was impressed/horrified. You see, us FedEx managers GET sick days. It's just an unwritten rule that we don't USE them. But the package handlers don't know that. I'm gonna be on light duty until I get the stitches removed in another two weeks, so I don't have to load one motherfucking box or move one truck (I can't climb into any of the cabs) until then. The sweetness, it fills me.
Busted open my knee on Wednesday, back to work on Thursday.
Don't you dare say Evil Brian isn't fucking hardcore.
