I’ve canoed down the Zambezi,climbed Aztec pyramids in Mexico, dived in Zanzibar and trekked in the foothills of both the Indian and Nepalese Himalayas. I’ve hiked in Thailand, swam in Australia, hitched through Namibia and taken a donkey up a hill in a remote Indonesian island.
And in all that time, I’ve never broken a bone! How on earth did I manage to stay orthopaedically intact for so long?
A few months ago, I broke my wrist in the most innocuous of ways - I slipped as I was stepping out of the bath. In the split second before I fell, realising that I had to take emergency steps to prevent my head smashing against the bathroom basin, I stuck out my right hand out to break my fall. A moment later I heard the crack. Trust me, I won’t forget this sound in a while.
It took just a few seconds before an intense and sickening pain flooded my body. Dripping wet, I pulled a towel around me before gingerly surveying my wrist. It was already badly swollen and, even worse, I could see a bone protruding into my wrist.In agony, I crawled to my bedroom and phoned an ambulance. After ascertaining that I was breathing and conscious, the operator told me I might need to wait 2 or 3 hours, since it was a Saturday night and paramedics in London were busy. I already knew I couldn’t cope with the pain much longer so thanked her, called a cab and - somehow - managed to pull on sweatpants and a shirt. When the driver arrived and saw me, pale, sweating and with a towel wrapped around my wrist, there was no need for him to ask my destination.
Photo courtesy of MIT News
Ten minutes later, I staggered into the Accident & Emergency section of north London’s Whittington Hospital. I’m pleased to report that I hadn’t lost my manners though...rather than scream and shout, I waited patiently in the queue before announcing to the receptionist: “I’ve hurt my wrist and if it’s not too much trouble, could I please see a doctor.”
Then, as an afterthought, I added:
“Oh, and I think I might need some pain relief because I feel as if I could throw up or faint.”
When a bone is sticking through your hand, you jump pretty fast to the top of the triage list and 10 minutes later I was in the hands of a capable young nurse, assuring me that because her name was also Sarah this was a good beginning.
“We’ll have to take an x-ray, but I’m afraid it doesn’t look good,” she told me, before handing me 2 paracetamol and apologising that she wasn’t allowed to dispense anything stronger. Taking the x-ray was a whole new form of torture in itself, since I could barely move my hand, let alone place it flat on the screen. The technician was kind and patient as I tried desperately to get into the right position. Determined not to cry, I grit my teeth. The waves of pain kept coming but, I told myself, at least I would have clarity.
Photo courtesy of Lucien Monfils
“Yep - it’s a bad break” said the ER doctor, 15 minutes later as he ushered in a nurse to my cubicle. In her hand she held a syringe of morphine. Well, at least that was something. She shot the sweet liquid into my mouth and within a few seconds I felt my body relax. Dazed and giddy, I vaguely heard the doctor begin speaking.
“I want to try and maneouvre the bone back into place” he said. “Is that ok? Of course, we’ll anaesthise the arm first,”
“Will it hurt?”
He looked at me, unsure of how to answer.
“It won’t be pleasant.”
“Don’t worry about me, I just need to know what to expect. Is it going to hurt?”
“Sorry, but yes.”
“Thanks for the honesty - I just want to prepare myself mentally.”
Two doctors and nurse Sarah spent the next 20 minutes trying to manipulate my bone back into place. Even with my arm somewhat deadened, I can tell you it was not something I want to experience again. Throughout the ordeal, I was deathly calm...thinking “happy thoughts” (ice-cream sundaes, beaches in the Med, crime fiction novels and movies starring Al Pacino).
Once they’d re-jigged the bones, to an acceptable degree, anyway, Sarah looked at me with pride.
“You were very brave. Most people cry or scream.”
I nodded, phlegmatically. “Now what?”
“Well, they’re going to have to put you in plaster. The orthopaedic surgeon isn’t available, but he’ll take a look at your x-ray at his clinic on Tuesday. He’ll know better.”
The ER doctor then returned to the cubicle.
“Well, looks like you’re going to be out of action for a bit” he said. “What’s your profession, by the way?”
“I’m a freelance writer and editor” I answered, before watching the horrified expression spread across his face. Then, with no rhyme or reason to it, I broke into peals of laughter, courtesy of the morphine.
Trust me, I wouldn’t be laughing in the days and weeks that followed.
To be continued...