Falling from a ladder; the start of an adventure

On December 5, 2009, I fell from a poorly positioned ladder and broke my right foot. Unlike my clients, I have no-one to blame but myself for my injuries. Nevertheless, injuring myself gave me a unique look into what many of my client’s go through when they have been injured by another.

I was up on my ladder, trying to put my Christmas lights on. I already had two strings of Christmas lights on the outside of the house, and was now working on my third. I had even used little plastic holders for each light in order to make the Christmas lights look very nice and straight. I put the ladder up, but was a little concerned about putting the ladder against the rain gutter, so I devised a better plan. I wedged the ladder in underneath the rain gutter thinking that it would not slip; it seemed so very sturdy. However, once I got all of my weight at the top of the ladder, the bottom began to slide from underneath me, and I began to fall. I recall trying to grab the rain gutter to try and catch myself; I obviously was able to grab the rain gutter, but not hold on to it, as the rain gutter is now bent out of shape. I recall as I began to fall, that I had a feeling of denial and disbelief. I could not believe that I was really falling; things like this don't happen to me! The next thing I knew, I was lying on the concrete with a tingling sensation in my feet. The pain was not intense, in fact was quite mild, but I knew something was wrong. I didn't really try to move, but rather reached for my cell phone and called my wife, Rochelle, who was in the house. I said, in what I felt was kind of a serious timbre, “Can you please come outside?” I guess I didn't sound serious enough, as she responded by telling me that she did not want to come outside because she was in her pajamas lying in bed. I then said, "I think I broke my foot, can you please come outside?" Immediately, she got dressed and came out with my oldest daughter Alyssa. They helped me up, with Alyssa on my right and Rochelle on my left. Our driveway, however, is slanted and Alyssa is taller than both my wife and I, and that simply wasn't going to work, as she was on the up-side of the driveway. I asked then to switch places, and that was doable for getting me into the house.

Once I got into the house, I laid down on my bed and Rochelle helped me get my right shoe off. Once I saw my foot, I knew we were going to go to the hospital. We got in the car, and started driving to the emergency room. Naïvely, we were hoping to be able to simply go into the hospital and get the bones set and casted, and come home. That, however, was not to be. Once we arrived at the hospital, it was a very short wait at the ER, as it is a brand-new hospital, and people have not yet caught on that they can go to the emergency room there. I was immediately admitted, and remember the admitting nurse asking about my pain level. I think I rated it at around three or two, as it really was not hurting too bad, but both my right foot and my left great toe were tingling. This was to be my start of understanding how arbitrary the 0-10 pain scale really is.

I was then taken into the backroom, where x-rays were taken. Once the x-rays were taken, the ER physician working that night, came in and told me it was a bad fracture and asked if I needed any intravenous pain medication. The pain was still minimal, so I declined the intravenous medication, but did accept, with the doctor’s encouragement, an oral narcotic. He then called the orthopedist who was on call that evening. As we were waiting for the orthopedist, my foot began swelling and hurting. The ER doc came back and again recommended that I take the intravenous pain medication, which I then accepted. I was glad that I did, because from that point on, through the next 24 hours, the pain was extreme. The orthopedist arrived, looked at my x-rays, and immediately decided to admit me overnight in the hospital, in order to monitor the pain and swelling. He said it was the worst foot fracture he had ever seen, telling me that he wouldn’t even consider trying to repair it, but would refer me to a foot specialist.

Meanwhile, the ER nurses where all a buzz about my x-rays. Apparently, from a “cool looking x-rays” stand point, mine were quite impressive. One of the nurses asked my wife if we had seen the x-rays yet, and she said no. The nurse then, very excitedly, took Rochelle behind the Nurse Station counter to show her the x-rays. We would later find out that the break was called a Lisfranc Dislocation Fracture, which is a dislocation and fracture of some or all of the metatarsals at the arch of the foot. We also latter discovered that my fractures and dislocations were so complete that the front of my foot had no orthopaedic connection to the back of my foot. As for me, I refused to even look at the x-rays for several days, not sure that I could bear to see what the inside of my foot looked like. But assuming that you are braver than I, I will be looking for a copy of the x-rays and post them.

I then had my foot wrapped up and was taken from the ER to a private room in the hospital. That night, and the night of my surgery to repair the injury, showed me just how arbitrary and subjective the 0-10 pain scale really is. I’ll have to pick up from here on my next post.