Category: family

By popular request, a report, thirty days on:

Started off well enough.  As we had some business in the 50-mile distant Tri-Cities (Pasco, Richland, Kennewick) on a Sunday, we decided in the previous evening to leave early enough that day to get in some hiking and special dog-walking.  Our first destination was Wye Park along the shoreline.  We were intent on walking the shoreline, then on to Bateman Island in the Columbia River via its only access (aside from watercraft, or possibly, helicopter), a rough hiking trail (zoom the map to see the trail and other detail).

We parked at a chain-link-fenced cliff edge overlook along the Columbia Park Trail boulevard on the Richland side, then walked to adjacent Wye Park where paved trails led down near water’s edge.

Here we see the hard path between the river edge, left, and the city-side up the embankment, right. The Bateman Island hiking trailhead is just beyond the horizon and at the left in this photograph.

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At the Bateman Island trailhead (not pictured) was a large metal turnstile arrangement, allowing the passage of a single person (and dog) at a time.  From that point we were on a fairly narrow gravel path, maybe five or six feet wide (making for uncomfortable social distancing) atop a steep and brush-covered dike, perhaps fifteen or twenty feet high, leading to the island.  Kim and Charlie led, I followed.   Here is a view from the hiking trail, looking out to the inner channel of the Columbia, with a look beyond to Bateman Island.

 

We were staying to the right of the trail, anticipating the occasional oncoming walker.  Then Kim suddenly crashed in front of me, letting out an exclamation, “I broke it!”.   The right edge of the trail had crumbled away and her right foot went down the side, with her entire weight collapsing on her left foot which immediately turned in at a splayed right angle.  The severity, instantly obvious.  But it took four attempts, running back up the trail, to get a signal adequate to reach 9-1-1.

The wait for the paramedics seemed like many, many minutes of forever, but by the clock it was only seconds.   I was able to climb up the overlook to signal them as they drove into the street level parking area, still able to see Charlie vigorously (and I mean vigorously!) protecting Kim out on the access trail below.

The ambulance parked at the chain link fence overlooking the shore and trails.  The paramedics opened it up so they could scramble down the slope in full rescue gear.  They had to leave their wheeled hydraulic scissor stretcher at the turnstile, but ran down the trail with backpacks and a folding canvas stretcher.  At that point, I had to hold Charlie at bay while they attended to our victim.   After a dash to the trailhead in the soft stretcher and negotiating through the turnstile, Kim was transferred to the wheeled stretcher.  (Those who know Kim would probably not be surprised that she offered to try to walk out to avoid all the stretcher-transfer-business.) Then those amazing musclebound fire-guys pushed the whole load up what looked to be an impossibly steep slope and into the ambulance, paying no attention to Charlie’s barking and lunging as I tried to restrain the loyal beast.

Surprisingly, once Kim was inside the ambulance, Charlie calmed down and even let me walk him to our vehicle.  We followed the paramedics up the freeway to a three-or-four minute distant hospital.  But — there is a pandemic, you know — I was not permitted inside.  In fact, Charlie and I spent the next six hours waiting in a multilevel parking garage.   In the scramble, I thought for a time we had lost Kim’s cellphone, but found it later on in time to have a security guard deliver to Kim in the emergency room, affording some audio contact over those hours.

I later learned that, inside the ER, there was debate as to whether surgery should be immediately undertaken or whether Kim could be returned to Walla Walla.  When an ER doctor told her that he knew of an orthopedic surgeon of considerable renown in our own community, arrangements were made and she opted to return home that evening, heavily sedated and in a full-length leg cast to prevent the slightest movement.

 

 

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First stop upon arriving in our hometown was a just-in-the-nick-of-time pharmacy visit for more pain meds to make it through the night until the meeting with the surgeon in the morning.

The upshot of the visit to the surgeon on Monday: surgery was delayed for a week to allow swelling to subside so we returned home to craft a new protocol for meal prep, laundry, housekeeping, and personal care.

In the meantime, keeping the pain of the shattered ankle at bay was a matter of some exotic painkillers, which — true to form — Kim avoided as much as she could tolerate, so little sleep was had by anyone over the next week or so.  But she managed some relaxation here and there.

Surgery took place exactly one week later.  Again I was held at cellphone-length, and had to await a call from the surgeon to announce that the procedure was a thorough success (frankly a surprise to me, given the x-ray views of the complex damage that I had seen earlier).  A few hours later, I was allowed to pick up the patient.  (That was when she learned that while I was parked, as instructed, in front of the hospital emergency door, one Subaru Outback had propelled backwards against our unattended car as I helped her make her entry into the place.  Spoiler alert: its driver admitted fault, in full view of hospital security guards, and we have proceeded to seek insurance claims accordingly.)

After surgery, Kim was fitted with a cast that freed her knee, allowing much more comfort.

(Despite x number of titanium screws, plates and other assorted hardware.)

 

 

 

 

And suddenly, late one afternoon just a few days later, Ivi emerged in the sunset, driving in from Seattle. From that day on, not surprisingly, the mood lifted considerably and the quality of cooking radically improved!

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Charlie immediately recognized and greeted Ivi, relaxing somewhat his posture as Prime Guardian (all this time he had been maintaining vigil at Kim’s bedside, even barking loudly at me whenever I approached to assume any caretaking duty).

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Speaking of Charlie, he now consents to walks with Ivi, having previously refused to go with me in the absence of Kim.

 

Finally, on July 2, Kim was fitted with a (Star Wars Storm Trooper?) boot at her next visit to the surgeon. Now she proceeds quickly throughout the house on her walker, and insists on preparing her own breakfast, — Ivi has taken charge of the noon and evening meals, as well as grocery shopping — doing dishes, stashing shopping bounty, etc.

Prognosis? Our surgeon predicts a somewhat-return-to-normal in four months, with the ability to walk, bear weight and only occasionally be vaguely aware of the bionic implants.