Broken leg, by the numbers

This morning I went to my penultimate doctor's appointment — one last check-up before I get the screw removed in early December. My strength is probably about 75 percent. My surgeon, Dr. Carr, said that I should be back to normal by about the first of the year.

So, one final assessment. Here's my broken leg, by the numbers:

Approximately $7,000 — total cost of a tibial plateau fracture.

$3,000 — roughly the amount I'll have paid out of pocket. 

1,067 — miles on the road from West Branch to Williamsburg with a broken leg. Way to go, Honda Accord.

56 — days without walking or driving. 

23 — different people who gave me a ride. This includes 6 in Iowa and 18 in Virginia; Dad is the only one who drove both places. 

15 — boxes Rebecca packed into my car for the trip. I'm guessing on this one, but the point is that she did a masterful job, getting in way more stuff than I ever thought possible. I could barely stand on my crutches at that point, so she did it all herself. Outstanding.

12 — X-rays so far, with at least two more to go.

11 — physical therapy sessions, all in Williamsburg.

10 — minutes inside a CT scan 

7 — different medical doctors. This includes the PA in Dubuque, an orthopedist and an orthopedic surgeon in Iowa City, the doctor who OK'd my CT scan in Iowa City, the initial orthopedic surgeon in Williamsburg, the orthopedic surgeon who actually performed the procedure (I saw him in both Williamsburg and Newport News), and the doctor at the William & Mary Health Center who signed off so that my new insurance company would continue to cover my preexisting condition. Phew. Of course, this does not include the numerous X-ray techs, nurses, physical therapy techs or Joe, my physical therapist. All wonderful people.

5 — days between my injury and the correct diagnosis. The PA at the emergency room in Dubuque told me the X-ray was negative, but she also recommended that I see an orthopedist. Good thinking there.

4 — tiny scars. Hardly even noticeable.

3 — bottles of prescription painkillers.

2 — insurance companies. I'd rather not try to count the phone calls to the insurance companies.

2 — crutches. I'll have to dig them out one last time for that day in December, but otherwise they're taking a well-deserved break in the closet.

2 — parents who took care of me in Williamsburg. I love you, Mom and Dad.

1 1/2 — hours in surgery. Thank you, inventor of general anesthesia.

1 — 4-inch screw, due for removal on Dec. 7. A date that shall live ... oh, nevermind. I'll just be glad when it's over.