I was working late yesterday afternoon when Trevor called me at the office. This is the conversation that transpired:
Me: “Hello?”
Trevor: “Hi.”
Me: “Oh! Hi, Trev! What’s up?”
Trevor: “Okay. Don’t panic.”
Me: “What’s wrong?”
Trevor: “I’m fine. Really. There was just an accident.”
Me: “Oh, no! Are you really alright?”
Trevor: “Yes, I’m fine. I think I need to go to the ER, though.”
Me: “The ER? What’s wrong?”
Trevor: “I think I broke my hand.”
Me: “Well, I’ll drive you…”
Trevor: “…You don’t have to do that. I can drive myself, no problem. Plus, I want to sign the lease for my new apartment first. I’ll just go afterwards, you know, if my hand still hurts and all.”
Me: “You don’t think you should go straight to the ER?”
Trevor: “No. I’m fine. Really.”
Me: “…”
Trevor: “How about this: After I sign my lease, I’ll go to your house. That way you can look at my hand. If you still think I need to go to the ER after seeing it, then you can drive me. Okay?”
Me: “Okay. [Pause while I think about what to say next…] So, what happened anyway? How’s your car?”
Trevor: “My car isn’t that bad, you know, considering…”
Me: “Considering what?”
Trevor: “That I hit a tractor.”
Me: “A what?!”
Trevor: “A tractor. It was heading the wrong way down this street. I didn’t see it because I was at an intersection waiting to turn right. My view was obstructed, plus who expects for a tractor to be heading the wrong way down a busy street at rush hour anyway? I turned right, accelerated and we smacked right into one another. I totally didn’t see it until it was too late. It’s hard to miss a tractor, you know, because they are so big.”
Me: “Oh, my goodness! I’m glad you’re okay! You could have been seriously hurt!”
Trevor: “It wasn’t that big of a deal. Neither one of us was going very fast. It just sucks because it is, like, bumper number 5 on this car and all.”
Me: “I’m just glad you’re okay. Did you file a police report?”
Trevor: “Yeah. The police were involved. It was clearly the tractor’s fault, so that’s in my favor. The contractor at the site told me to contact their insurance company directly.”
Me: “Oh. That’s good, then.”
Trevor: “Well, I better get off the phone. Meet you at your house in half an hour?”
Me: “Yeah. See you then. Unless…”
Trevor: “Unless what?”
Me: “You want me to meet you at the ER?”
Trevor: “No, I’m fine. I’m even starting to think that my hand is okay, too. It feels a lot better now. I’ll probably just ice it tonight and reevaluate it in the morning.”
Me: “Well…we’ll have to see about that.”
Trevor: “Right. But not until after I sign my lease.”
Me: “I know, I know. The lease. Fine. Whatever. See you in thirty minutes. Love you.”
Trevor: “Love you, too. Bye.”
Me: “Bye.”
Now, it is important to mention the following:
- Trevor hates doctors. He will insist that he is fine - even if he is (CLEARLY) not - to avoid seeing one.
Case in point: He broke his big toe years ago playing basketball. Instead of going to a doctor, he decided the toe was okay and would (somehow) get better by itself in time. Today, his big toe is crooked (and by “crooked” I really mean “it looks like it is on backwards”. So. Gross.), and would have to be rebroken and reset to ever look “normal” again. Sigh.
- Trevor takes pride in the fact he cannot remember the last time he took a sick day from work. His job even gave him a certificate last year for not taking any sick leave in a twelve month period. I’m sort of surprised he didn’t have the certificate framed.
- Just because Trevor didn’t take any medical leave last year, does NOT mean that he was always healthy enough to go to work. I swear: Trevor could be bleeding profusely from the eyeball, and he’d still head to the office. He has some sort of (severely) over-developed sense of duty about his job. I’m not sure I’ll ever understand it.
Consequently, when Trevor called and told me he thought he needed to go to the ER, I was pretty sure his hand was either:
- A bloody pulp (and potentially severed from his wrist).
- Completely crushed and mangled (needing immediate reconstructive surgery).
So, not wanting to waste any time, I rushed home and waited for “the victim” to arrive at my house.
Half an hour came and went.
Then, forty five minutes.
At the fifty minute mark, I couldn’t stand it any longer and called Trevor. In my panicked state, I starting to imagine him slumped over in his car due to some sort of massive internal hemorrhage. Not pretty.
Finally, on the fifth ring, Trevor answered:
Trevor: “Hello?”
Me: “Oh, thank God! Are you okay?”
Trevor: “Yeah. I’m fine. Just trying to locate my new mailbox. Want to come over and see my new place? It’s larger than the unit they showed me.”
Me: “How about your hand?”
Trevor: “My hand? What about it?”
Me: “How is it? Remember the ER?”
Trevor: “Oh, yeah. About that: it is feeling a lot better now. I really don’t think I need to go anymore.”
Me: “Will you just come home now? I really want to see you.”
Trevor: “Uhmmm…yeah. I can do that. I’ll be there in five minutes.”
Me: “Okay. Thanks. See you soon.”
TEN minutes later, Trevor FINALLY showed up. His hand was bloody, but still attached to his arm (
whew!). The “bloody parts” weren’t even that bloody – it almost looked like he had gotten into a fist fight or punched a wall (except, in his case, Trevor probably inadvertently slammed his hand into the dashboard of his car when it crashed into the tractor). His knuckles were the source the blood, but the cuts were all superficial. The only real cause for concern was the swelling on the right side of his right hand. It looked pretty angry. Trevor could still wiggle all his fingers, though, which was a good sign. The pinky and ring fingers were definitely limited in their range of motion, however – especially when Trevor tried to spread his fingers apart (as if he were going to palm a basketball).
Despite Trevor's insisting that he and his hand were fine (and I was making a big deal out of nothing), I decided that we were both going to the hospital. Initially, I thought getting Trevor into the car was going to be a problem, but he got in willingly enough once I pointed out the following:
- It had been established that the tractor was at fault in the accident.
- The police report confirmed that the tractor was – again – at fault.
- The contractor had told Trevor to contact the company’s insurance provider directly to work out the details of getting his car fixed.
Therefore, if Trevor was hurt as a result of the accident, it should be documented by a medical professional as soon as possible. Not that Trevor would ever take legal action against the company operating the tractor, mind you (it was an accident after all), but protecting oneself is always a good idea in today’s society. Especially, in the event that something was really wrong with Trevor’s hand. Trevor has medical insurance, but that only goes so far and covers so much. Best the problem be documented now, rather than later. After all, the more time that passes, the harder it is to prove that the hand was injured in the accident with the tractor. Call me crazy, but I like all my bases covered.
Plus, I had a bad feeling about Trevor’s hand. It was very swollen. Trevor’s “wait and see” idea seemed a little risky to me.
Anyway, I finally get Trevor to the Baylor ER and checked in to the “Minor Emergency Room” (yes, Baylor has various levels of “emergency”. Very convenient. Just remember to check in with the triage nurse before following the blue line to the first floor), when I realize that I’m doing an awful lot of writing on Trevor’s behalf. At first, I dismissed it as nothing (I was there to help), but as time went by I started to pick up on a simple, little fact:
Trevor can’t write. It hurts him too badly.
It was definitely one of those ah-ha! moments for me. Once I recognized it, I knew we had made the right decision to come to the ER.
Trevor, on the other hand (no pun intended), was still in denial. I sat there and listened as he told the nurse and doctor that his hand, “didn’t hurt
that badly,” and it was, “probably just bruised”. My personal favorite was when he announced that the pain in his hand only ranked a three on a scale of one to ten. I almost asked the doctor to test Trevor’s pain tolerance by asking Trevor to write down his name and telephone number with a pen and paper, but decided against it. After all, Trevor was fooling no one but himself.
So, as you might have already guessed, Trevor broke his hand.
Good news: It is a clean break, so (hopefully) no surgery will be required. The type of break is also known as a “Boxer’s Break” (meaning: people who box often sustain fractures of the same bone(s) in their hand(s) during a match). Trevor is
VERY excited about being lumped into the same category as a boxer. I’ve actually heard him say, “I broke my hand. It’s a ‘Boxer’s Break’. Yeah, that’s right. I broke my hand
just like a boxer.” I’m pretty sure the story will morph into Trevor fighting the tractor with his bare hands before long…
Bad news: He’ll be needing a cast once the swelling goes down. I’m hoping for pink one (mainly because Trevor has already announced that I will not be allowed to sign it. Humph…we’ll see about that!).
On a serious note, though, I’m really, really happy that Trevor is okay. I was very worried about him yesterday – mainly because
I knew he was hurting even though he wouldn’t admit it. Plus, there was the whole “Trevor had a head on collision with a tractor” thing. It all could have turned out very differently. After all, the tractors are kind of designed to “win”, especially when faced with a small, domestic SUV, like Trevor’s TrialBlazer. Everything considered, a broken hand and bumper are two small prices to pay.
Oh, and just incase anyone was wondering, Trevor DID go into work today (although he took the morning off). That boy’s dedication to his job knows no bounds (rolls eyes). Apparently, when Trevor called his boss this morning, the conversation went something like this:
Trevor: “Hi. So, I’ll be coming in a little late today. I was involved in an accident on the way home from work yesterday, and I broke my hand.”
Boss: “Really?! Wow. A broken hand, huh?”
Trevor: “Yeah. It’s a ‘Boxer’s Break’. I’ve got a splint on it now, but will need a cast in a few days once the swelling goes down.”
Boss: “Oh. [Pause…] So, uh, do you think you’ll still be able to, uh, type?”
Sigh. Poor Trevor…
