Fractured

As the old saying goes (or should go), sticks and stones may break my bones, but calling names will certainly win me popularity in presidential elections.  For my immediate future, I feel I should amend the first part of this old belief: sticks and stones and falling bodies onto macadam driveways will break my wrist!

This event happened on Labor Day.  The high humidity which has dogged us all summer finally gave way on this holiday and I felt inspired to pull weeds in our side yard.  The weeds had to be pulled; they were taller than I am, which is not too much of a stretch since I am just a hair over five feet tall.  So I pushed our wheelbarrow to the side yard and quickly filled it.  I stopped a few times for a rest inside and a lunch break. 

At one point, I needed to take a break and sit for a while on my kneeler/seat.  Now I should explain that our side yard is not on even terrain.  There is a definite slope to it and passage through it when there are smaller plants and roots present to trip over is not the smartest idea.  Given my uneven gait should have convinced me not to tempt fate.

In other words, I should have known better and guessed what would happen if I tried to walk down the slope.  In fact, I do know better, but the thought, “Oh, what the hell?” crossed my mind.

Hell indeed!

My foot must have caught on a nice decorative wood border which I had installed earlier in the season.  I tried to regain my balance, but that idea was fruitless. I tumbled out of the garden and onto our driveway.  I made contact at three different points on my body: my left ring finger, my right hand, and my face.

Initially my face ached the most and I thought that I had gashed my lip for sure.  That pain went away within an hour and no, there no was no cut or bruise or blood.  My crash into macadam did not improve my looks one way or the other.

The finger and hand achiness continued throughout the week.  I made it through the shortened work week, and even volunteered to work through the weekend. The wrist pain got particularly annoying on Friday and I figured it was time to visit the local urgent care clinic.  Warrior Queen met me there in case I would be told that my injuries precluded me from driving home.  X-rays were done and the physician on duty saw some abnormalities on my wrist (Really?  Me? Abnormal?), but he could not determine that I had a fracture.  He advised anti-inflammatories and the radiologist would review my images the next day.  I would get a phone call if the radiologist determined that I had broken something.

The call came late Saturday afternoon.  Yes, there was a small fracture in my right wrist; the nurse did not mention the left middle finger.  I’ve been left to assume that nothing is broken on that side.  I procrastinated returning to the clinic until the next day: the humidity had returned by that time on Saturday and I didn’t feel up to venturing out again that day.

After working four hours Sunday morning, I stopped at the clinic to have a soft splint applied and instructions to contact an orthopedist for follow up.  The physician assistant did not instill much confidence in her treatment.  She helpfully started to point out where my fracture was located, even though she was looking at the x-ray for my left hand.  I told her that the problem was on my right arm.  The correct image was brought up and she pointed out what looked like a bone chip sticking out perpendicular from the other bones.  Okay, now this makes sense.

So now I wait for my orthopedist appointment in two weeks; this was the earliest appointment available to me.  In the meantime I am not to do any lifting, and long time blog reader Janey has suggested that Warrior Queen see to my every need until that time.

As many of you who know or know of Warrior Queen, you can probably best surmise her reaction to this suggestion went over like a middle-aged male body hitting macadam.

(Thank you for reading.  Or a lead balloon, take your pick!)