My brother had something of a hiccup in his Christmas vacation down in South Carolina: on Christmas eve a dog ran out in front of his bicycle and he "came off." His girlfriend carted him off to the ER and an x-ray showed a broken right collarbone, with the ends of the fracture so far apart they could have been in separate ZIP codes. The ER docs sent him home with his arm in a splint because no orthopaedic surgeons were available.
My brother promptly posted the x-ray on his Facebook page and asked me to share it with my Unionville pals, many of whom have suffered similar equestrian injuries. They recognized the familiar image immediately and were full of advice about surgeons, narcotics, rehab, and so forth.
My brother's girlfriend, who has earned the undying thanks of our whole family, snagged him an appointment at a top-notch sports medicine clinic in Charlotte, N.C. (my brother was reassured by the photos of professional athletes in the waiting room), and he had surgery six days after the crash. As soon as his pain level allowed, he was back on his bike (probably not a photo he should have shared with our mother). A week later, with hardware and a brace holding the bone in place, he drove home to Chadds Ford.
If she could have, his girlfriend would have dispatched a drone to hover over his car so she could track him all the way home before she finally felt comfortable "clocking out." Our mother's concern was how, without assistance, he would manage to dress himself and make his bed. He is already back to work, so I'm assuming he has managed the former; I am less sanguine about the latter.
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