I got hit by a truck!
Well, just a little.
I had to go outside because these gentlemen were misunderstanding the concept of backing a truck up. The concepts they were missing were the facts that 1) we state that you cannot pull any vehicles into the building 2) the truck is physically too large to fit into the building. Neither of these facts seemed to deter these gentlemen.
I’m standing in the loading area explaining to the one person I thought may or may not have been the most likely to understand or be able to explain my issue. As much as I tried, I was failing miserably. I finally figured the only thing I could do was take matters into my own hand.
While pounding on the back of the truck I screamed,
“Pull the fucking truck forward and park it! NOW!”
I don’t know if it was my constant banging or the order but the driver pulled the truck forward and stopped. For a millisecond I figured this was a completed mission. I turned to exit so these gentlemen could begin their work when the driver did something that caused the truck to lurch backwards and slam into my shin.
Oooo, that stung.
I reach down and rub the lump. It amazed me how quickly a piece of steel slamming into a shin can cause a lump. I limp back to the office grumbling. I couldn’t blame anyone but myself. After all, I was standing behind a truck that seemed stopped to me.
I’ve been hit in the shin many times in my life and know the level of pain doesn’t correlate to the damage. A refrigerator fell on my shin once. That hurt. I was backing up a staircase with it when someone decided to help by stepping to the side of it and pushing. That caused it to slip from my hands and drop onto my shin. I’ve heard it takes between sixty and seventy pounds of pressure to break a shin so I’m sure if all my weight wasn’t on that leg it would have gone through it. As it was, it cracked it and it swelled up and filled the bottom of my pants. I still have the indentation.
It’s painful to move and I see a little blood and a small tear on my pants. The blood spots not too big so I figure it’s just a scrape. Things like that happen when steel hits skin, you’d have to assume. I’m running around the building doing other things and the leg continues to throb. After about twenty minutes my boss sees me limping around so asks what’s up. I tell him a truck hit my shin. He looks toward my leg and says,
“There’s a little blood there.”
There was. It was about double the last time I looked.
“Have you looked at it?”
“Not yet. Haven’t stopped moving since it happened.”
“You should check it out.”
I sir down, put my foot on the desk and pull my pant leg up.
“Oh! That’s ugly.” My boss says. I think he was over reacting but it was interesting.
Have you ever seen your own bone through an opening in your skin? I don’t recommend it but it is sort of interesting. I’d move my foot and watch the muscles and other inside stuff move up and down.
“You’ll probably need stitches.” My boss says walking over towards his desk. “Do you want me to call an ambulance?”
“Nah, Mike’s here. He’ll give me a ride.”
I get dropped off at the hospital (I didn’t say he’d wait!) and go to the emergency room. The intake nurse takes my information and tells me to take a seat. I look around and see various sick and injured people and think back to the time I cut open my finger on a barbed wire fence. I was sitting there soaking my hand when a nun lead a kid to the seat next to me. She smiled and showed me the scrape on her charges elbow. A fucking scrape! Then she made a mistake. She asked what my boo-boo was. That was probably the sixty-seventh time in my life I thought I was going to hell and I was only ten. When I pulled my ragged, bleeding and gaping tear into my flesh this nun, a kind looking woman, turned marshmallow white as she shielded her students eyes and whisked him from this would-be hell resident.
I get walked into a room with three tables. A doctor is leaning over one stitching up the hand of a big, tough looking guy. It’s why his distressed expression and ashen pallor were remarkable to me. I looked at his hand and it wasn’t that bad. I jump up on the table and the doctor asks where my bang was. I lift up my pant leg, she nods and tells me she’ll be with me in a minute while the guy getting stitched moans and tries his best to look away from me and not at his hand. I think he focused on a jar of cotton balls.
I plop on the gurney and start to greet the guy. He was happy to have any type of distraction. He told me how he cut his hand with a box cutter. I said they can be dangerous. He asks what happened to me and, not really thinking about it, I rolled up my pant leg and said,
“Hit by a truck.”
Have you ever heard all the air leave a persons body and wretch at the same time? Neither had I up until this point. It was an interesting sound though.
The doctor finishes with him and rolls over to me. She twists my leg to get a good look.
“Ripped to the bone, didn’t ya.”
“Yeah, it looks pretty cool though.”
“Let’s get to work.”
She starts in and the guy looks at me amazed.
“You’re going to watch?”
“Yeah, why not? I watched an operation on my hand once. That was pretty weird.”
He rolls over but sees his hand so snaps to his back and stares at the ceiling.
The doctor and I are randomly chatting. She inspects some of my other scars giving her professional critique of other doctors needling abilities. We’re talking about various things she’s stitched to the consternation of my stitchmate. I’m sure he wanted to open his mouth and scream but, if he did, he’d never stop.
The doctor wraps up her work, I thank her and jump off the gurney. She asks if I want to hang around and rest for a while. I said no, I was fine. She asked how I was leaving. I told her it was a nice day so I was going to walk. It was only a couple of miles back to work.
“You just had your leg stitched!” The guy turns to face me now that my leg was safely panted. “And you’re going back to work? AND walking there?”
“Yeah. It’s nice. I’m going to go by there anyway.”
“I’m not leaving here unless the company sends a cab and I’m taking the rest of the week off. I know I’m not going to be able move my hand, isn’t that right, doc?”
The doctor nods while writing something.
“I’ll give you both notes to take the rest of the week off if you want.”
I pass her, shake her hand on my way out and say,
“Give him mine. I’m sure he be able to put it to use.”
She laughs as I exit.
“I still think you’re nuts.” The guy calls still reclined.
“I know you’re not going to be surprised but that’s not the first time I’ve heard that.” I call over my shoulder while I limp past a guy with a large head wound. I smile at the guy half wanting to go back to hear the guy’s reaction to that mess!
I’m sure the doctor would let me assist.