Broken-Hand Follies

by Carine Nadel • More.com Member { View Profile }

Would you lend me a hand?

I could use one-literally.

I decided to make good use (OK, not one of my better choices as it turned out) of a summery winter day and power-walk up to the pharmacy to pick up a prescription. I like to use my walks to clear my head before getting into “the zone” to write an article.

There I was-listening to my iPod shuffle, thinking about how I wanted to write up a heavy-subject piece on mental illness in children and that’s when it happened. I tripped.

It was just an uneven part of the sidewalk, but I tripped nonetheless. I heard myself saying “NO, DON’T FALL YOU IDIOT!”  But, I didn’t listen.

Sigh.

Nope-I flew forward. First I hit my left knee, then my left hand and I finished my swan’s dive on my left shoulder.

This was also the first time I left home in years without my trusty cell phone in my pocket.

No one came to my rescue. No real surprise there. So I sat on my keister waiting for the initial shock to pass. Then I assessed my situation. My knee now looked like it used to when I was eight and made a practice of having scabs 24/7. Otherwise, it was OK. However, I knew I had broken something in my hand, and my shoulder was none too good.

Then I looked at where I was-closer to the pharmacy than home. I got up (I’m sure that was a sight) and limped to my destination. Now I must have looked pretty darn ashen because I was NOT greeted by the usual “Hi Carine”--instead it was bug-eyed gasps of, “Are you all right?”
I said, “No, I’m not. I’m pretty sure I’ve broken my hand--would you call my son?”

(Hubby was over a half-hour away)

They did, he came and took me too the ER. After going through my story about three times, I was sent for x-rays.

Too bad for me--the tech hit me in the head with an errant stabilizing bar.

After being tortured for 15 minutes I went back and was told exactly what I already knew: knee was just painful and ugly, shoulder kicked up the bursitis and was bruised and yes, I'd broken two little bones in my hand.

I was given a heavy shot of a painkiller, a splint wrap and an appointment to be casted (if the swelling went down) two days later. Went home, didn’t sleep and woke up to 20 minutes of dry heaves and a couple of fainting spells. Spent the day going in and out of consciousness.

Oh, the fun.

Got the cast--bright pink. Felt only a tad better. And proceeded to write this story for all of you. One handed, of course. And it took me over an hour, too. Hope you all appreciate the effort.

Oh, and the broken hand? My dominant one.

I’ve been promised that I’ll be out of the cast within a month. That works--my son’s wedding isn’t until Mother’s Day weekend.

Until then, seriously, does anyone have a hand to spare?

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