With my back flattened onto the compacted snow, half-way down the easier part of the run with my snowboard still strapped on, I knew I had done myself a mischief. What sort of mischief was not immediately clear. Here are a few things I have learnt about being busted...
My M.O. for big falls is to visibly move body parts so my riding buddies know I am a) alive, and b) conscious. I could feel & move my legs & toes, arms & fingers which told me no broken limbs. Both arms worked, albeit one more painfully than the other, so no shoulder dislocation. After a handful of arm waves I zeroed in on the nature of my mischief. I did not know the French for 'clavicle' (it's "la clavicule") so between gloves, movement-induced pain and zero (useful) language skills I could not specify my mischief spot. So I lay still while I was packaged up, dragged down the mountain and ferried off to hospital.
It is hard to imagine, pre-fracture, just how and to what extent a fracture impedes the most simple and/or essential of tasks. Each fracture has its own, very special blessings. Boy does a busted clavicle have some blessings.
To operate or not to operate? That is the question. While my fractures were the non-displaced type I was left with the impression that avoiding surgery was both feasible and acceptable. Yay, (I thought), because surely surgery would hurt more and take longer to heal, right? Who knows, I don't. Because two days after my snowy demise I took a hit from a falling metal object - smack-bang to my busted clavicle. I swore (loudly). Muscles vigorously objected and spasmed. The previously non-displaced fracture became displaced. If I knew then what I know now, I'd have admitted myself for surgery the second I took that hit. Alas, I waited until I was stable enough to fly, brave enough to drive to the GP, and clever enough to see a consultant. Minutes after exiting recovery and for the first time since the mischief making, I moved my arm independently!
Clothes I don't do fashion. I AM busted-clavicle fashion. I have a limited wardrobe (I detest shopping, I cannot keep up with what's 'in' and what's 'out' and have trouble finding clothes that look or feel right for my size and shape). Much like with pregnancy, my range of able-to-wear clothes was slim. The only tolerable clothes were those that went 'up', could be worn off the shoulder (think: vest tops) or were light-weight enough to hook over my busted side (think: trusty cardy).
The Armpit Where there is injury, let me sow pardon for my Armpit Of Doom. I stole that name from a fellow fracture patient but since it perfectly describes the matter why reinvent the wheel? Every parent knows that baby wipes clean anything; as a Mama, I carry them everyday, everywhere. So it was with a little smugness that, thanks to baby wipes, my Armpit Of Doom was less 'doom' and more 'decent'. That and I developed a dangling arm technique for showering. Delightful!
Sleeping arrangements Sleep is the best meditation when different sleeping positions are not restricted to different leg positions. Much like when made this mischief, flat on my back was my only sleeping position. I mixed this up with straight legs, one bent, both bent, that sort of thing. Post surgery it was possible to turn to the unbusted side and soon I could rest the busted side on a pillow. I (day)dreamed of one day being able to sleep on my favoured side again - the busted side. (Pleased to report that at almost one month post surgery I can do this!)
Food/drink Eating words has never given me indigestion; neither has eating with an immobilisation sling. Parents know how to eat one-handed and how to cut up food into bite-sized chunks; but we usually do the latter with two hands and the former every-so-often. Eating and drinking with a busted clavicle, I found, is a series of impossible equations: I could toast bread but not butter it; I could cut pasta but not cook it; I could brew tea but not boil water; I could serve and eat cereal but not open milk. You may have noticed that I like to share solutions, things I have learnt, so here it is: I could press the espresso button on my coffee machine and I could drink it. So I did.
This is not the only bone I have busted. Ironically, while it has been the most painful and difficult to negotiate every day tasks, the post-surgery recovery has been the quickest! Still, I may consider a switch to skiing.
*credit to William Shakespeare, Coco Chanel, St Francis of Assisi, Dalai Lama, Winston Churchill (in this order) for their words of wisdom, which I have debased.
** for the record (and I know I have said this before)... I am not medically trained. At all. Please do not think this as a medically-informed recommendation!
The Armpit Where there is injury, let me sow pardon for my Armpit Of Doom. I stole that name from a fellow fracture patient but since it perfectly describes the matter why reinvent the wheel? Every parent knows that baby wipes clean anything; as a Mama, I carry them everyday, everywhere. So it was with a little smugness that, thanks to baby wipes, my Armpit Of Doom was less 'doom' and more 'decent'. That and I developed a dangling arm technique for showering. Delightful!
