Ouch.

We're getting close to finalizing our insurance settlement from the accident, and I got a copy of this message from our lawyer to the insurance company:

"Given the medical expenses and limited insurance available, Heidi will not come close to being made whole."

That almost made me cry. I know what he meant: "After medical expenses, her cash settlement will not adequately compensate for her injury." But that line "Heidi will not come close to being made whole" just pierced me. My leg never will be whole again. I will function normally, but never as well as I would have otherwise.

And that hurts.

I was going to give this a positive spin, a life-affirming "it will all work out for the best" vibe, which I do believe, but I think right now I just want to feel that hurt and accept it.

Envy and Resentment

I miss my car. I really miss my car. It wasn't perfect, but it was comfy and reliable and my color and had all sorts of bells and whistles: moon roof, heated leather seats, wood trim, automatic everything, a stereo that encompassed you in music when you turned it up loud (and I like my music loud). And it was stylish and made me feel hip. I never feel hip. 

James says he resents it every time he sees another Outback on the road. How come they get to keep theirs while ours is smashed? We parked next to one almost identical to ours the other day, and the woman was smoking inside. How could she defile "our" car like that?

I may envy other Subaru drivers, but I don't resent them. I resent those who drive big trucks. Sure, there are plenty of reasons to need a truck like this: towing a boat or trailer, hauling farm or construction equipment, maintaining off-road trails and such.

But really, how many big truck owners actually do any of those things? How often? And do they really need an urban assault vehicle to do it? Or are they driving it because it's tough and manly and makes them feel powerful? So powerful that they can drive too fast on a mountain road and not pay attention to where they're going? I get angry when I see them advertised on tv, when I see them on the road. Especially if the radio's too loud and the driver's hat is on backwards.

I know this is my problem, and like many things, I just need to get over it. But if you do happen to own one of these trucks, would you mind not driving it near me for a while? Thanks. 

The Latest Update

This morning I got  my contraption replaced with a cast. It holds my ankle in a slightly different position, so it's going to take some getting used to. I get to keep it for two weeks and then move on to a walking boot. Apparently the bones are mending well.

Here are my X-rays, the first from the side and the second from the top. I don't think these screws are ever coming out. I might have to carry these with me next time I try to board a plane.

In the meantime Atticus has done some fun things, and I promise to get some of those pictures posted. Just not today. I think it's time for a nap.

The gory pictures

I don't have a copy of my x-rays, so I'll try my best to describe what happened to my ankle. We're still trying to figure out how exactly it happened, but it appears that my foot moved and my ankle didn't. The tibia (the big bone) didn't break but got dislocated and broke through the skin. That's what I saw when I looked down at my leg in the accident. There was surprisingly little blood. I guess none of the major vessels were damaged. All sorts of ligaments, however, and possibly some tendons got damaged in the process, and the lower part of my fibula (the small bone) pretty much shattered. It also broke in a couple places higher up, but those breaks are in good alignment and don't need further support. On Thursday I felt that higher break go "pop" and had more pain there, so on Friday we went in to have it checked it out.

They took x-rays that looked fine, but my dressings were pretty grody, so she changed them. This was my first good look at the contraption holding my leg together, officially called an "external fixator." James likes to call it the Eiffel Tower. One night as my meds were wearing off, I was confused to have a pinching pain in my shin. Then I remembered that I have a screw in my shinbone. Oh yeah.

The stitches that go across the front of my leg are the original wound. I didn't look too closely at the time, but it seems bigger than I expected. Maybe they opened it further during surgery.

 Yes, that's a rod going through my heel bone. And yes, I do feel like a kebab.

This is where they cut me open to put a plate and a bunch of pins to hold my shattered fibula together. I have to say this is the messiest incision/stitches I've ever seen. I hope it's not an indication of the surgeon's overall skill. I'm not impressed with his general demeanor and customer service. But I'll take what I can get.

And here's what I get to look at for the next little while. I have an appointment Friday to have the stitches removed and to determine when the rods come out. The next step is a cast, and then maybe a boot. The physical therapist said today that it might be three months before I can put enough weight on the ankle to walk on it. I should be able to drive again when I'm no longer taking narcotic pain meds, and once I get a cast I can get a knee scooter that will allow me to be more mobile.

This ankle will always be stiff and prone to soreness. I will never be a runner or a ballerina. But I will be able to hike and bike and do all the other normal things I want to do. I think I'll start with water aerobics. Maybe around Christmas. That reminds me--our handicapped parking pass expires on Christmas, so let me know if you want a good parking spot at the mall. We'll give you a lift. :)

Surreality

James and Atticus stuck around for a while after the ambulance took me away. (The had to wait for the police to be done before they could get a ride.) The force of the crash knocked one of Atticus's shoes off, and James couldn't find his hat or glasses for half an hour. The Luke Skywalker figure Atticus was holding lost his head, which we've still not found. 

They sedated me to set and splint my leg. Everything was a bit fuzzy after that. I came to while getting a CAT scan The cervical collar was a lot more uncomfortable than the contraption on my leg. (More leg contraption photos to come.)

They kept me pretty well drugged up for the first couple days. Man, I love morphine. I'd have intense dreams as I drifted in and out of consciousness in which this whole situation was part of some greater plot or operation. I'd never remember the details, but I had a sense of importance. At one point I "drunk-texted" James (on opiates and with double vision): "I keep forgetting what I'm doing here and wh3 whenwdid I start drikiu?" I sent him a photo of my bruised chest with the message: "I figured as long as I'm drunk texting--please confirm the following: I am the only known operative in gntne ... in the hospital at this time."

It took a while for that feeling to pass. Sometimes I still wonder.

James walked away with relatively minor injuries, with abrasions and chemical burns from the airbags on his hands and massive bruising from the seat belt. I still have a hard bruise ridge across my belly from the seat belt, too, but I must say it's much better than the alternative.

These photos still blow me away. James and Atticus went to get the last of our belongings from our car (still no sign of Luke's head), and the car looks even more surreal out of the context of the accident. But this last picture will make me a Subaru owner for life: as messed up as the engine block is, all damage ends where the passenger cabin starts. This car saved our lives. 

I can hardly bear to consider how differently this whole situation could have ended. It keeps me from feeling too sorry for myself.

What my summer blog posts were supposed to look like

Here are some fun things we did this month and had planned to do frequently.

Grilling!

Laughing together outside!

Let Atticus get soaked to the skin in the sprinklers

Visit local destinations like the Kennecott copper mine 

Hike the beautiful trails just minutes from our door

Ward campout and music with friends 

Climb lots of rocks

Enjoy beautiful mountain lakes

And then last Wednesday a lot of that changed. We were on our way up Big Cottonwood Canyon to venture out on another beautiful hike to another beautiful lake (Twin Lakes by Brighton). About a mile up the canyon, we started around a corner and saw a large truck in our lane. Less than a second later, the scene looked much like this:

My first thoughts were inventory: James is talking and moving; no apparent injury. Atticus is freaking out and breathing; no apparent injury. How are we still all alive? How are we this ok? I am breathing and talking, but there's a gaping wound on my ankle and my foot is hanging funny. My leg is broken.

I smell chemical smoke from the airbags, now sagging uselessly. The engine block is hissing, people are yelling. James has taken Atticus to the side of the road. He tells me they're ok and checks out my leg. I call 911. Why is it taking so long to connect? Oh, I forgot to hit "send." Now it's ringing. I tell them what happened. They want an address. An address? We're on the road in Big Cottonwood. Where the hell is there an address? Having reached the limits of my usefulness, I pass the phone to a witness who knows exactly where we are. The other driver comes by several times, freaked out and apologetic. 

Soon paramedics arrive and the next stage of our surreal adventure begins. More on that tomorrow.