The Mule Chronicles...Episode 5...Part 4

First, a message from our writer. Ok folks, I've gone back and changed the share permissions to public for all of the Mule Chronicles. This means that the share count should go way up. I'm going to need lots of new gear and mule/rider therapy isn't cheap so we need to find sponsors or some media outlet to buy this story. We can only reach our goal with your help. Children are starving...well, somewhere, I'm not sure where. Animals are being beaten by Sally Struthers on late night TV. My adoptive child from Ethiopia isn't satisfied with 3 meals a day and medical care and is now demanding a pony. Only you can stop the horror by donating now. Open your hearts and your wallets, then give us a share and a like. We now return you to your regular broadcast.

Hospital? We ain't at no stinking hospital!

When we last left our now battered and bruised buckaroos, Dad and I had just been whisked into the ER by a very concerned nurse. Her confused look was likely brought on by the fact that we were still laughing every time someone asked how this happened. It took some time, but they finally warmed up to us and accepted that this was likely some kind of redneck adventure gone wrong. Once in the treatment room of the ER, we are barraged with questions about every possible medical history or outcome known to man. Questions include, but are not limited to; What time did this happen? What medications are you taking? When was your last tetanus shot (He didn't step on a nail, he fell off a mule...silly nurse)? When did you last eat (danger Will Robinson, this means surgery is a possibility tonight)? When was you're last menstrual cycle (have we become THAT progressive?) And my favorite...Do you feel safe in your current living arrangements? At this point, I can literally see the wheels turning in Dad's head and I'm starting to wonder if the hospital in Jackson Wyoming will call Brentwood Police about a possible domestic violence situation. I go for the high road and crack a joke to break the tension..."Not so long as that mule is around!" I thought the nurse was going to break her neck whipping around to level her steely gaze at me and was certain that "Don't make me take off this flip flop" was sure to follow. But alas, the nurse lost her nerve and I saw the hint of an amused smile before she moved on to more important details..When was your last bowel movement? WAIT A MINUTE, I'M OUT OF HERE!

Now the nurse decides that Dad needs to take off his shirts (it was cold remember). It had previously not dawned on me that I could end up having to help my father dress or undress and I suddenly start to panic as I realize that I am the only "family" here if he decides he has to go to the bathroom. I still have the keys to the truck and start plotting my escape while praying that Wyoming has some kind of "Safe Space" program for seniors that won't result in any actual jail time should I attempt to flee. I watch as Dad unbuttons his flannel shirt successfully and momentarily think that I am safe. As he starts to take off not one, but two long sleeve T-shirts (I always wondered who bought those things) I see the first signs of trouble start to unfold. The nurse is firmly planted on the other side of the bed and has now started to look at me like a preacher starting down a disruptive 8 year old boy in the front pew. After watching Dad do his best Lost World T-Rex impression, I decide I better intervene lest the nurse will decide to hurl the blood pressure machine at me (she was a sturdy woman...lets call her Greta...Again, no clue if that was her name, but she looked like a Greta to me...You know, the healthy rugged pioneer woman type). So there's Greta contemplating whacking me with the nearest heavy object when I leap to my feat and start trying to assist in the long sleeve T-shirt removal. Let me paint you a picture. Have you ever played that Cat's Cradle game with the string on your fingers? Well I sucked at that game and the string always ended up in a big knot. I realize now that Cat's Cradle is a game we use to prepare kids to one day have to undress their parents. There were sleeves going every which way, at some point Dad's head got stuck in the neck hole causing him to look like The Great Cornhornlio from Beavis and Butt-head, and I start fearing what is to come if we have to remove his pants. It doesn't help that I can see Greta shaking her head in disgust in the background like she's some kind of a judge at a greased pig wrestling contest. At last the shirt comes off and we all breathe a sigh of relief. Greta now walks over with a gown and explains in a very slow and deliberate tone how to put it on. "We're not idiots lady, they use to trust us with guns and expect us to protect the public." My inner voice starts shouting this response but luckily I am able to quell it and keep it from becoming my outside voice. Greta clearly takes pity on us and decides to delay the removal of any additional clothing until such time that it is deemed "unavoidable."

Somewhere during all this ruckus another nurse appears as if he didn't want to miss the show. It wasn't until latter that I learned we were the only ones in the ER and that he was probably just looking for entertainment. I should also note that without exception, everyone's response upon seeing the bare shoulder for the first time was, "OH, WOW!" Really? what happened to bedside manner and making your patient feel like everything would be ok? I was also somewhat reassured that I had made the correct decision to push for a hospital visit when everyone also agreed that it had to be either dislocated or that the bones from Dad's shoulder would later be found throughout his body during surgery kind of like some crazy bone bomb had gone off in his shoulder. The male nurse (let's call him Ernie cuz he was a happy and helpful little guy but maybe not the sharpest knife in the drawer if you know what I mean) ran off to retrieve some ice for Dad's shoulder while we waited for the Xray tech to arrive. Ernie quickly returns with a bag of ice large enough to preserve a woolly mammoth through the next heat wave and a tiny (like practically a thimble) cup of water. Ernie hands the ice to Dad and instructs him to put it on his shoulder before handing me the midget cup of water. Ernie then says with a smile, "I didn't want you to feel left out." At this point I'm stunned and am unable to conjure a witty retort, which is probably best because Ernie seemed like the metro-sensitive type and lord only knows what kind of issue I would have created if he ran crying from the room, muttering "bad man, make the bad man stop."

With everyone out of the room, I decide this might be a good time to broach the issue of calling "The Mother" for the second time. I will admit that the first time was somewhat half hearted on the drive to the hospital when I simply inquired if Dad intended to call "The Mother." At that time, I received what I would say was a typically response to this type of question. "Uh, no" over the top of a somewhat maniacal laugh. Knowing that "The Mother" would somehow find out about this little side trip to the ER and that I would likely be the one to take the brunt of the blame, I pressed my luck by asking about the notification again. "So, are we going to call "The Mother" now?" After bracing for impact from small procedure table sitting closest to Dad, I am instead nearly knocked out of my chair with the speed at which Dad relents and says, "we probably should." Now this may not seem like a big deal to most of you so I will offer some Exhibits in my defense.

Exhibit A - Dad never, and I mean never called home when he got hurt at work. This included the time he showed up at home with his arm in a cast after getting a spiral fracture from a fight with a drug addict intent on stealing Jello from the local Sizzler and the time a little old man in a hat mowed him down on his police motorcycle resulting in an ambulance ride to the ER.

Exhibit B - Dad drove himself to the ER in Concord with a NAIL THROUGH HIS FINGER! Yes, I'll wait while you read that again. Nail through the finger, yep, you read that right. Of course he drove himself, like that is even a valid question at this point. That's probably not the best part of that story either. He had to pry himself off the fence he was working on because he nailed himself to the fence post. Maybe he was re-enacting some scene from the bible, I have no idea what he was thinking. I only know that he drove himself to the ER, drove himself home, and only then relayed the event to "The Mother" who was calmly going about her day wondering where Dad had gone. Though the best part of this story is the poor maintenance man that the ER doctor had to call to bring a pair of pliers in order to remove said nail...but again, I digress.

There are more exhibits, but I trust you get the point. Needless to say, I breathe a sigh of relief that I haven't been maimed by errant hospital furnishings only to realize that by "we" he means me. Great, I get to call "The Mother," lucky me. Ring, ring...ring, ring...ring, oring...maybe she won't..."How of you have signal, why are you calling me, are you in the hospital?" Really? Again? "Funny you should say tha...WHAT DID YOU DO?...It's not me!...Is it Jay?" Clearly she knows from past experience that it couldn't be Dad because he would never agree to go to the hospital much less let anyone call to tell anyone at home about it. I truthfully fully expect a "Scott Lee" to fly at any moment but instead she pauses and allows me to relay the story. I proceed to relay that not only Dad got thrown off the mule, but that actually all three of us got thrown off the mule. Jay and I are beat up, but we're ok. Dad on the other hand probably has a dislocated shoulder. Of course I leave out the details about Brad and the deer retrieval mission because "The Mother" can probably shame us into having to drive straight home and we would never get to come back. Plus, those details are much more palatable after learning the emergency surgery isn't required. After a brief pause, "The Mother" does what "The Mother" does best...Let the 2016 Mule Trip Micromanagement Hunger Games commence!

"The Mother" begins to rattle off a laundry list of "to do's" that sound like she is planning an invasion of a third world country. Apparently upon learning of this misadventure, "The Mother" has declared Dad and I to be mentally defective and unfit to care for ourselves. There is no way I can do justice to the list that was invoked in this moment, but needless to say it was exhaustive. "You have to call Kaiser to authorize the visit to a non-plan hospital, make sure he gets something for pain, you know he won't ask so you have to do it for him, you need to start planning to head for home, what are you going to do if he has to have surgery, find out where the nearest hotel is with room in case I have to fly in, make sure you remember to eat, are you both wearing clean underwear"...I could go on, but you get the gist. After being sworn on my honor that I will call with an update once Dad is seen by the doctor and having taken a blood oath to keep her updated by text throughout the ordeal, I am allowed to hang up the phone. I looked at Dad and he looked at me and we both shrugged our shoulders before he said, "So? That went well?"

The doctor finally arrives...Ok, so a sidebar is warranted here. Should you ever need to go to the emergency room, regardless of where you are at in the world, I am pretty sure you could fly to Jackson Wyoming and be seen before you ever made it through the triage process at a Kaiser Hospital ER anywhere. You would also be hard pressed to find a nicer and more enjoyable group of folks that just seemed to enjoy taking care of other people. If could also be that it is currently the off season (Jackson being a big winter ski town) and they were just happy to have someone to talk to.

So, where were we? Oh yeah, the doctor (let's call him Doogie, yep he looked about 12) arrives and takes one look at Dad's shoulder and says...say it with me now, "OH, WOW!" Yep, even Doctor Doogie failed bedside manner 101. After explaining that he can't say anything for sure until the X-ray is done, Doctor Doogie thinks it is probably dislocated. We learned later that the staff were taking bets on whether it was dislocated or just totally exploded. Doctor Doogie makes no attempt to discuss treatment options and quickly excuses himself, probably to go seek mental health support after seeing such a horrific wound. I take this chance to photograph the now ballooning shoulder to send to "The Mother" as previously requested. Before sending it to her I demand that she sits down. For those of you that don't know, "The Mother" has a "thing" with bones. In fact, I'm willing to bet that in reading this, she is getting that clenching feeling in her butthole right about now. You know, the one that serves as warning that you are about vomit, crap you pants, or pass out? Really just ask her, or better yet, make some popping or bone breaking sound next time you see her. It'll be fun. Sure she might hit you after, but it'll be fun. Sorry, I'm digressing again. She finally admits that she is sitting, but I get no response after sending it. I'm pretty sure she passed out, but I don't have any witnesses and she's not talking.

The Xray guy (Larry, again, totally made up name but he looked like a Larry) shows up, takes one looks at Dad's shoulder and says? "OH, WOW!" Clearly they pass out a script at this hospital. When Dad returns from Xray he relays that Larry confided in him that he expected to see Dad's shoulder blown into tiny bits when he looked at the Xray. Dad takes this as positive news while I remain unconvinced based on the bedside manner experiences we've had thus far.

A short while later, Doctor Doogie returns and says that the shoulder is neither broken nor dislocated and informs us of the aforementioned side bet amongst the staff. A quick swipe of his pen on a prescription tablet and we are discharged with extra ice and a norco prescription, as well as some full color handouts on mule/rider violence resources. Greta does take a moment to tell us about why it is so slow and dismisses our amazement as, "the calm before the storm." Greta then relays that opening day of elk season is always crazy and then proceeds to relay all of the stories they are likely to hear the next day..."I got kicked by a horse, I fell off of a horse, I got kicked by the horse in front of me, horse stepped on my foot..." I was waiting for the I got shot by the Vice President story but it never came. I'm also not sure if she forgot that we were there as the result of a similar sounding mule incident or if her tales of ill-equipped horse riders with little to no experience was supposed to serve as a warning.

A quick trip to the local Albertson's to procure medication, ice, and the largest bottle of ibuprofen they had and we were off on our way back to camp. We arrive back in camp to Jay and Bill anxiously awaiting tales of our trip to the ER, which we dutifully relayed. It is during this exchange that Bill told us, very politely I might say and not in these exact words, that we were idiots for trying to ride out with a whole dead animal on the mule. Bill continued by saying that he has seen that successful only one time prior and that even then, it wasn't pretty. After a full lesson in game packing, I muster the courage to ask about how to avoid getting thrown seeing as I'm not really anxious to fly through the air with the greatest of ease for the fourth time. Bill relays that the only hope is to pull only one reign, left or right doesn't matter, as hard of you can in order to get the mule to turn in a circle. Bill continues by telling me that the mule still has to "walk off" the "nervous energy" before calming down and so this can be quite a ride. Mind you, I am now picturing a mule tornado not unlike the Tasmainian Devil from Looney Toons and questioning how I do anything other than be thrown even harder and further off due to the effects of centrifugal force (No I am not a physics major. Yes, I learned about this in Advanced Traffic Collision School and by watching lots of cartoons as a kid.). Needless to say, my fears of another 8 seconds of mule rodeo fame were not allayed.

A warm meal, high doses of OTC pain medication, a few rounds of cards, and lots of laughs rounded out Episode 5 as we laid our now quite weary heads down to sleep. I almost forgot, we also got an update on the Episode 5 villain, Brad. Turns out Brad didn't have Draw Tags for deer or doe. In fact, Brad didn't even have a hunting license or any tags to even be armed in the wilderness. Brad was carted off and treated to three hots and a cot pending his next court appearance where he will likely be found guilty of poaching for unlawfully harvesting THREE deer (Thank heavens we only had to try to help with one deer. Can you imagine the stories if there were three). This means that Brad will lose his hunting privileges in Idaho for life (plus any other state with reciprocity), likely forfeit all of the gear, guns, and vehicles he had with him on this hunt, spend time in jail (up to 5 years per offense), lose his job as a juvenile probation officer (if that is his actual job), pay significant fines, and likely have to write apology letters to the people of the state of Idaho. I'm not kidding, they take this stuff really seriously. In reality, all of us are lucky to not being going to jail for getting roped into Brad's scheme. I guess the moral of this story is that sometimes, the "these aren't my pants" defense actually works. There's actually probably a better moral to this story as well, but then that wouldn't be as good of a story would it?

Before I forget. Yes, both the wife and "The Mother" we briefed before we returned to camp and as promised, I made Dad talk to "The Mother." I should say, I handed Dad the phone and then ran away to avoid bearing witness to any threats of violence or other malfeasances that would likely only serve to increase my already exorbitant therapy bills.

Stay tuned for the remaining episodes of The Great Mule Caper as we have one more day in camp, the return trip to Utah (a story in an of itself), and then the trip home. All of which involve many more adventures and antics that you won't want to miss. And remember to LIKE AND SHARE to continue to support Misadventures in Mule Riding being picked up for another season which will include multi-angle 4K GoPro video and narration, including overhead drone footage. Also, stay tuned for the soon to be created Misadventures in Mule Riding Go Fund Me page to help support future ill-fated mule/human adventures.

I'd also like to thank Cassandra Dansie for her Photoshop skills to save the world from the dreaded "nip" shot in the hospital.