This past Sunday, Adam and I went to Home Depot to purchase a much needed lawn mower. (Adam has been mowing with an old fashioned, motorless, push-it-and-the-blades-spin mower for a couple years now.) After walking up and down the aisles a few times, carefully eyeing each mower and inspecting all the parts, he finally made his decision. We asked the sales associate if they had that mower in stock and he informed us that the only one of that particular model they had was the display. He also assured us that not only was the display for sale, but it was in perfect condition and, as an added bonus, it was already assembled.
A few minutes later, we were on our way out the door with our shiny, new, already assembled lawn mower. Just as we were walking out of the store, the security alarm went off. Apparently the cashier had forgotten to take the security device off the mower when she rang us up. No big deal, we had the receipt in my purse. Except I was so startled by the alarm that I stopped dead in my tracks when it started buzzing, and Adam...well, he just kept walking and BAM! The lawn mower ran right into the back of my ankles.
I immediately reached down and grabbed my left ankle, pressing on it firmly. A wave of nausea washed over me, and for a few minutes I was struggling to stay conscious. There were three Home Depot employees who witnessed the accident and they were soon by my side with alcohol wipes, gauze and band aids. When I finally dared to take my hand off and actually take a look at the wound, I discovered that there was a piece of flesh about the size of a dime missing from the back of my ankle, but surprisingly there was harldy any blood. I was starting to think that maybe this wasn't a big deal--that I was just over reacting-- but then I tried to move my foot and...nothing happened. We decided that it was probably a good idea to go to the emergency room, just to get checked out. As I was sitting at the admissions desk holding my ankle, I really wasn't in very much pain but when the receptionist asked my birthday and I honestly couldn't remember, I realized I was in shock!
A few minutes later, I was lying flat on my stomach on the emergency room bed when a gray haired doctor walked in, yawning. He carelessly ripped off the bandage that I had placed over the wound and when he saw the laceration he nonchalantly said "Yep. That's going to need a stitch or two". Then, being the highly paid professional that he is, he reached down, pinched either side of my cut and began opening and closing it like a mouth, saying "Helloooo" in a cartoonish voice.
More paperwork was filled out--medical history, medication charts, etc--and I got a tetanus shot while the doctor was preparing his surgical tray. That's when I finally told him that my biggest concern was that I couldn't move my foot.
"Really?" he asked (because a lot of people joke about that type of thing in an emergency room?)
He lifted my leg, moved it around, squeezed it a bit, let out a sigh and quietly said "Ooooooh."
"We need to get the orthopedic surgeon in here," he explained. "You've severed your achilles tendon."
Stay tuned for part two.