A brief update from my doctor's appt. this morning:
I'll be getting surgery (outpatient - yay - with general anesthesia - boo) next Tuesday evening. The doctor confirmed that my fibula has a hairline fracture, which will heal on its own. The tibial plateau fracture is worse than they thought, though - there's about 8-10 mm of displacement rather than the 3-4 mm they were guessing from the x-ray. Yikes. This means that I will have a bone graft that actually IS a graft. Of bone. From a CADAVER. I have the option of getting the graft from my own hip instead, but I think I'd rather not have more incisions than are strictly necessary. However, the cadaver-bone carries with it a one in a million risk of hepatitis and a one in 1.5 million risk of HIV. A little scary.
My favorite part of the appointment was the following, although I think the random med student who was shadowing the doctor was the only one who thought it was humorous. Ouch. Guess my funny bone's broken?
Doctor: Now, there are risks involved in accepting grafts from cadavers.
me: You mean like turning into a zombie?
To make this post at least a little Russia-related, isn't the Litvinenko poisoning story creepy?