It was one of those rare moments in life where the world is suddenly in slow motion. My perspective flipped to an image of myself. Both skis were on the ground a minute ago, now, I was flying thorough the air – sideways. There was a loud clean and clear sound. I felt my arm snap, my ski fall off, and then I landed, face down, on top of my obviously fractured arm in the snow. I was unintentionally clutching the pole that had tangled itself in my mitten – the same pole that got caught in my ski, and the same pole that unmistakably caused the rigmarole of the next eight weeks.
I did what anyone lying face down in the snow would do, I picked up my arm, with the obvious bone deformity, clutched it tightly and rolled over. Without my face in the snow, I felt a bit better. Not that it even mattered. I waited as a perfect stranger went to find the ski paramedics.
There are fragments and still frames in my mind that retell the story. I remember waking up to a crew of doctors and nurses standing around me discussing how they were going to cast it. No one had ever seen a clean diagonal break that close to the shoulder before. I fell back to sleep and woke up when the first slab of plaster hit my arm.
The next two weeks were spent in a rocking chair. Every time I lay down they had to rest my arm, finally, the doctor thought it would be best if I just didn’t lie down. I was also not allowed to untie my arm from my waist.
Ten years later, doesn’t feel that long ago. The event is now a humorous memory. It would have been funnier at the time if I knew the bone I broke was actually called the humerous. For weeks, people made that joke, and for weeks, it escaped me.
And now I’m proof. It didn’t kill me, and now my right arm really is stronger. And I’ve got a funny little ridge near my shoulder to prove it.
I did what anyone lying face down in the snow would do, I picked up my arm, with the obvious bone deformity, clutched it tightly and rolled over. Without my face in the snow, I felt a bit better. Not that it even mattered. I waited as a perfect stranger went to find the ski paramedics.
There are fragments and still frames in my mind that retell the story. I remember waking up to a crew of doctors and nurses standing around me discussing how they were going to cast it. No one had ever seen a clean diagonal break that close to the shoulder before. I fell back to sleep and woke up when the first slab of plaster hit my arm.
The next two weeks were spent in a rocking chair. Every time I lay down they had to rest my arm, finally, the doctor thought it would be best if I just didn’t lie down. I was also not allowed to untie my arm from my waist.
Ten years later, doesn’t feel that long ago. The event is now a humorous memory. It would have been funnier at the time if I knew the bone I broke was actually called the humerous. For weeks, people made that joke, and for weeks, it escaped me.
And now I’m proof. It didn’t kill me, and now my right arm really is stronger. And I’ve got a funny little ridge near my shoulder to prove it.
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