If you are like me, and I'm sure you are, you probably walk around all day wondering "What kind of commie-pinko corporation would make a refrigerator that magnets won't stick to?"
I now have an answer to this dilemma, and that answer is: General Electric. I have one of their "Profile" fridges in my new place, and refrigerator magnets won't stick to it.
If you like me, and I'm still sure you are, you'd also walk around all day wondering "What kind of commie-pinko landlord would put such a travesty into an apartment that they rent?" And I'd like to say the people that I'm renting from, but when I asked the leasing lady about it, she had no idea. So I doubt there's some kind of conspiracy, at least not at the level of people who actually talk to the tenants.
But now I have to somehow learn to cope with living an a really nice new apartment, in a nice "new" neighborhood, with a fridge I can't stick photos, phone numbers, menus, coloring book pages from old girlfriends or the kids downstairs onto.
And things were going so well too.
Almost two weeks ago now, actually two Mondays ago now, I fell down on my way to the subway to go have dinner with some friends who were in town from London. I hit an uneven crack in the sidewalk, and rolled my left ankle. I sat there for a second, looking at the three people who saw my fall, feeling embarrassed, then hopped up, and started to walk to the subway again. Then feeling the wind on my right leg, I noticed that the fall had skinned my right knee badly, and nearly torn my pant leg off. So I walked home to wash my knee off and change pants.
Once home, I called my friends, and while I was explaining this, I realized that my ankle was swelling up in my shoe. I could feel it happening. So I told them to have fun without me, washed the skinned knee as best I could, and then put ice on my ankle.
I walked around on it, refusing to not be able to walk on a sprained ankle. The following Friday, in fact, I went over to my old apartment to sort thru books I wanted to keep, and catch a few things I missed when the movers had been there. Saturday, a friend with a car and I went over to the old place, and we carried those boxes down to the car, and put them in a storage area in the new building here.
Some time over that weekend, I developed bruising on my foot. Incredible, bed-sore purple bruising, on my toes and foot. Sunday I flew to Winston-Salem for work. Monday I worked, and I just couldn't get comfortable. That monday night, my foot started getting numb, and tingling.
So I figured I would stop being macho about it, and go have it looked at.
I walked into the emergency room of a Winston-Salem hospital. The triage people seemed impressed by my foot. So impressed, they told me "we'll put you on the fast track". I guess in case my foot was actually falling off me, right at that very moment, or something. I walked back to the examination room. The xray tech lady asked me if I wanted a wheelchair, or if I wanted to walk to the xray room. I almost walked, but at the last moment decided I was in a hospital, so I might as well get pushed around in a wheelchair some.
About 10 mins after returning to the exam room from xray, a pretty blonde lady stepped into the room and asked me kinda heatedly: "Are you the man that's been walking around on a broken ankle for the last week?" This seemed kinda mean, and unfair, because right up until that moment, it hadn't seemed like a dumb idea at all. I mean, I could walk on it, it was supporting my weight and everything, it was just bruised and swollen badly.
"Uh, no?" I wouldn't normally answer a question with another question like this, but I didn't know who she was, but I did know she was stunningly good looking. She was hot. But I didn't want to just hit on her, because she might have been someone important that I wouldn't want to piss off, and I try not to be inappropriate to people who are working.
"You're wrong, it was you." Turns out, she's important. She's the doctor.
My ankle is broken, and broken badly, though not so badly that she thought I would need surgery or pins or plates. Her reasoning for that is that I had been walking on it, so it is "stable". She also said that any further damage that was going to happen, probably did during the week I was walking on it. I just sat there quietly thinking about carrying heavy boxes and stuff over the weekend.
So, a splint, crutches, and a $100 co-pay later, I left the hospital with a prescription for Oxycodone (a generic form of Percoset), and a referral to an orthopedic doctor in Winston-Salem.
I didn't fly home right away, because I could still work, and I figured the flight home would suck in every way and I wasn't in a hurry to have it happen. I figured that since I would have to drive everywhere in Winston-Salem, I'd be able to get around better there than in NYC, where it is all walking and mass transit. I also figured it might be easier to just use the referral to the doctor there, because I would probably be down there enough to follow up with it down there. I changed my flight from Greensboro airport to Charlotte NC, 90 miles away, to avoid having to fly home on a regional jet that I'd probably have to walk down stairs to get to. I did however keep it for Friday, to stay the whole week. I also had the travel agent arrange with the airline for a wheelchair at either end.
I later found out that the project was moving to San Antonio, TX in January, so I changed to a doctor in NYC. That is for this coming Monday.
And the flight home sucked, but maybe not as much as it could have. Asking for help at every step of the way was effective. I can get around on the crutches, but being a fat bastard these days with no upper-body strength, I can go about 50 feet before I have to stop and take a break. Also, there are good samaritans out there who will help a stranger. Something I hadn't been so sure about before yesterday.
The wheelchair at the airport was the best idea of the whole trip. I would not have made it home any other way. I had a car service waiting for me, and the driver was very helpful too. Gate B15 at Charlotte is at the far, far end of the B concourse, and is about as far away as you can get from the ticket counters and still be in the terminal building. Same for gate 15 at the USAir terminal at Laguardia being about as far away from baggage claim as you can get there too. It would have taken me an hour to make those walks myself on crutches.
So I'm home. I'm going to have food delivered all weekend. I'm going to live on the couch and in front of the computer, staying in. Monday, I'm hoping I'll get a walking cast and life will be simplified a little. If it's anything more complicated than that, it will affect my ability to travel, and thus my ability to actually work.
It's broken, badly but "everything is where it should be". I am to wear the "boot", the giant velcro thing to keep my foot immobilized. I go back for xrays in 4 weeks, after which I probably get an air cast.
The automatic ice maker in the freezer of the fridge.
This one thing is worth all the trouble. Worth the broken ankle. And even, slightly, worth having a commie-pinko fridge.
The ability to just reach into the fridge and pull out and handfull or two of ice for a drink... priceless.