Content Advisory: this blog contains x-ray images of my actual broken wrist
Also, due to said broken wrist and its aftermath, this blog (and most of my blogs for the foreseeable future) contain recycled doodles in which I have crudely digitally erased and re-drawn/re-written with my non-dominant left hand — so please forgive the wobbly lines and non-Gwendle-like printing. My inner perfectionist is screaming.
On December 19th 2022 I was walking to the bus stop after work when I slipped on the ice; my feet went out in front of me, and I instinctively put my right arm out behind me to break my fall — that’s an odd expression, isn’t it? Google and several dictionaries were of no help in finding the origin of the phrase, but regardless of who coined it and when, my fall proceeded without interruption and I broke my wrist instead.
I knew instantly that my wrist had bent back much farther than normal, but since almost all of my joints are hypermobile I initially thought (or desperately hoped) that I had merely sprained it. When I tried to get up, however, my dreams of a minor injury were dashed.
Despite the presence of multiple bystanders my first few requests for someone to “please help me, I think my wrist is broken” went unanswered as they stood by and stared at me blankly. I had to single someone out like they teach you to do in first aid courses — “hey, you in the pink coat, would you please CALL ME AN AMBULANCE BECAUSE I’M 90% SURE THAT MY WRIST IS BROKEN” and then I had to assure her that yes, I did want her to call an ambulance, and coach her through the entire call.
I felt comparatively lucky a couple of minutes later when a woman named Barb came by; she was a healthcare worker who very much took charge of keeping me calm and comfortable, explained to the actually competent bystanders (who suddenly came by in droves once the ambulance had already been called) that help was coming and I was being taken care of, and made some calls on my behalf to advise my people of what had happened. I couldn’t get up, so I sat on the icy ground for about thirty minutes until the ambulance arrived. The paramedics used some kind of magic trick to get me to my feet without too much more pain, and I was finally on my way to the hospital.
Shortly after arrival, I was admitted to the emergency department, where they provided me with industrial strength pain killers; highly effective at relieving me of my pain, which helped relieve me of the shock I’d been suffering from, and subsequently, of all the contents of my stomach.
Eventually some of my people made it through the terrible road conditions to keep me company, and even more eventually I was sent for x-rays which confirmed that my wrist was very, very broken in addition to being “grossly deformed” (a term which I heard at least three times when the medical professionals were describing it to each other or to myself). The ER doctor also told me that he wasn’t sure whether surgery would be an option, because it would be “a bit like trying to screw gravel together”.
(Apologies for the reflections and satiations — the official copies didn’t arrive in time, so these were photographed from another screen because the program they were being viewed in blocks screen shots.)
Unlike in my edited doodle, there was not a single break, clean and easily fixable — there were multiple breaks, with one piece of bone sitting all alone, isolated from its friends, even after they sedated me and “reduced” it (we common folk usually say “set”). I am eternally grateful that I was 100% unconscious for that part.
When I woke up from the anesthetic a cast had been applied (you can see it’s ghostly image in the x-rays above) and I was ultimately sent home, with an appointment to see an orthopaedic surgeon for an assessment ten days later. Normally the wait for the specialist would have been shorter, but I’d made the mistake of falling too late in the day, and with the terrible road and sidewalk conditions there had been a lager than usual occurrence of broken bones, most of which had been processed before me. It was a sleepless, drugged up, painful ten days.
As it turned out I was a candidate for surgery, which I was advised to have due to the severity of the break and the vagrant bone fragment; that happened on January 1st — two weeks after the original break. Everything was put back in its proper place, and a metal plate and eight screws which will remain in place indefinitely were installed.
My surgeon says that the bone has healed well, which is at least one good thing. Regaining the use of my hand is another matter, which will provide inspiration for a later post.