Two lies and a truth

Scenario #1: About 7:00 this morning, I awoke to the sound of breaking glass. I sat up to find two knife-wielding ninjas (thanks for the inspiration, Judy Daniell) coming in through the bedroom window.

"Mike!" I screamed. Upon hearing the panic in my voice, Mike leapt from te bed and engaged in some fierce hand-to-knife combat with these two very bad dudes. In the melee, he ended up with a broken ankle and torn ligaments.

Scenario #2: Early this morning, Mike was out riding his new FatBike (that's really what it's called). He heard shrieking and saw an old woman frantic because her little tabby cat had run into the street and into the path of a garbage truck. Mike pedaled with heroic speed and threw himself in front of the truck, saving the cat. However, the truck's rear tire ran over Mike's right leg, breaking his ankle and tearing a few ligaments in the process.

Scenario #3: While getting dressed this morning, Mike tripped over a pile of clothes that have been waiting for several weeks to be taken to Goodwill. He felt 3 pops and was in excruciating pain. A trip to the walk-in orthopedic clinic revealed a broken ankle and torn ligaments that will require surgery to repair next week.

Which do you think is the truth?

The End

In my weariness of writing about Mike's medical marvels, I guess I kind of dropped the story before telling the end. Even my own two sisters weren't clear about how things ended up.

So briefly, turns out that Mike's knee and thigh were indeed infected. The good news is that none of the three bacteria they identified are of the resistant sort. So they released him from the hospital on Friday night, but not before setting him up with IV antibiotic therapy once a day for 4-6 weeks, thereby enacting Plan B.

Mike's been down this path before, 7 years ago. It was a frightful experience, complicated by the fact that I was 7 months pregnant and not at all interested in earning my nursing degree by trial and error, which is precisely what they wanted me to do -- flushing IV lines and hanging antibiotics and making sure the bubbles were out so I didn't do something silly like accidentally kill my husband.

So when that became an option again last week, I immediately coiled into a fetal position and wailed "No, no! I can't! I won't!" And know what? I don't have to.

Turns out they have a nifty place just a few minutes from our house where Mike goes every morning to get his antibiotics from friendly and very skilled professionals who wouldn't dream of killing him with a bubble in his line.

Aside from all of that, he's doing very well. Getting around the house without the use of his walker, pretty much. Starting to wean off his pain meds. Showing the 33 staples in his leg to anyone foolish enough to look. Lucky for you, I think the toes were enough. I'll spare you the pic of the staples.

And that my friends (I hope!), is THE END.