Use the Force, Luke.

It looks a bit like a lightsaber, don't you think? Though I would never condone the practice of engaging in high-risk behavior on the outside chance of incurring serious bodily harm, you have to admit: glow-in-the-dark casts are cool! Every night, as I settle in under the covers, I can't help but giggle when I see the eerie green glow emanating from my arm.

I went to the doctor a week ago Monday. Dr. #1 x-rayed my arm to see if the bone had stayed put. It had, so he put a new cast on. By bedtime, my fingers were slightly numb and discolored: the cast was too tight. I put up with it until the following morning, when I went back in to have the problem fixed. The medical assistant split the cast down the back, hoping that he could spread it enough to relieve the tightness, but he couldn't. So I got yet another cast (which is still a little on the tight side, but bearable). While Dr. #2 (#1's partner) was putting the new cast on, he took a look at the x-ray from the previous day and decided the bone wasn't as straight as he'd like. He said, and I quote: "You aren't going to like this." That, my friends, was the understatement of the century. He then proceeded to squeeze the still-soft cast--and my wrist--very hard, straightening it ever so slightly. (His finger and thumb prints are preserved forever in my cast. Really.) I responded by gritting my teeth and trying hard not to scream, or kick the doctor in the shin. You'll be happy to hear I was successful on both counts.

I went back yesterday to have another follow-up x-ray. The doctor said he was "tickled" with how well my bone is healing. I'll be released from my fiberglass Iron Maiden--it really is torture to wear this thing!--in two weeks.

In spite of the discomfort and inconvenience of having a broken wrist, I've managed to keep up my school work. I've learned to write with my left hand, though it's not very legible. I take notes on my laptop, but do math by hand. My numbers have gotten better with practice, but are still pretty scary. I feel sorry for the grader! Art class has been the biggest challenge. Cameron was a huge help on my cut paper project.

I'm taking a break from studying for my midterm exam in Literary Interpretation--the only class for which I have to take a midterm. :o) Part of it is an essay, and some short written answers, but my professor was kind enough to make arrangements with the testing center for me to use a computer for those portions of the exam.

The editing project I've been working on for the last several months (see Nov. 15, 2009 post) has undergone some exciting changes. I finished my original assignment: verifying the sources used and formatting the end notes for the paper. The professor I work for decided to give me a more hands-on role. In exchange for doing some summarizing and rewording, I am now officially co-author of the paper! I even signed a contract that gives publication rights to the Wooden O, the education arm affiliated with the Utah Shakespeare festival. The English department chair is thrilled. The university loves professor/student collaboration projects. This is an amazing opportunity for an undergrad. I can't begin to describe the gratitude I feel. I'm now working on extracting text from this same professor's doctoral thesis for a lecture he's delivering in three weeks at a conference at Oxford University in England.

Hayden got his cast off on Thursday. He waited four days before going skiing. I'm pleased to report that he and Parker both came home in one piece. Parker went to the Sweetheart Dance at the high school on Saturday and had a good time. Tyler survived three weeks without his girls. Brandi and Chloe are back home after spending a week in sunny Arizona, followed by two weeks snowbound in the Washington D.C. area. They were there for the humongous snow storms, so they didn't get to see much. They had to come back to Rexburg for decent weather. :o) If Saturday is anything like today, I will be sorely tempted to duct tape a ski pole to my cast and hit the slopes!

Uh, Parker? This is your mother. I pulled a Hayden. I'm at the First Aid station." ~ message I left on Parker's phone

I had every intention of posting an inspiring, uplifting entry this week, but hubris and/or stupidity changed my plans. Let me explain. In what can best be described as a lapse of judgment on my part--and peer pressure on my sons'--I decided to give snowboarding a try. Parker got me outfitted with the proper equipment, and we headed for Targhee (with my skis, too, in case I hated snowboarding). All was well: I was really enjoying myself, and doing better than I had anticipated. Cameron, Jacob and I stopped for lunch; they decided they were done for the day. I wanted to make at least one more run, so I left them in the lodge. That run went well--I was feeling pretty confident by now--there was still time, I figured, for one more run. I should have quit after the first. I was within 100 yards of the lodge, when I leaned back just a little too far, and instinctively tried to catch myself as I fell. (Ironically, it was exactly one month, to the day, since Hayden had done the same thing, in nearly the exact location on the hill! I think we'll petition Grand Targhee to rename the spot "Wrist Snapper.")

Rule Number One of Snowboarding: Do not ever, ever, try to catch yourself. YOU WILL BREAK YOUR ARM!

Have you ever heard the sound of your own bone snapping? It isn't pleasant. I immediately knew something was broken. I pulled off my glove, yup: my wrist definitely was not supposed to look like that.


(This picture doesn't truly capture just how deformed my wrist was.)

I sat in the snow, yelling to get the attention of passing skiers. A guy came and helped me get the board off my feet, and said someone had called the ski patrol. I decided I could walk down to the First Aid station before they'd get to me, so I asked him to carry my board for me, then calmly walked down the hill, holding my broken right wrist in my left hand. When I got to the lodge, a woman from the ski patrol asked if she could help me to the First Aid station. I said sure, but first I needed to let the boys know what had happened. She offered to find them for me, but I said it would be easier if I did it, since I knew exactly where they were. I found Jacob (Cameron had gone back out with Tyler and Parker) and went to the clinic.

Without going into all the boring details, a guy splinted my arm then helped us find the other boys so we could drive to the hospital. I opted to skip the hospital in Driggs and head straight for Rexburg--about an hour and a half away. Though I was in pain, it wasn't unbearable.

Tyler dropped me and Parker off at Madison Memorial, took the little boys home, grabbed my purse, and was back in time for the exciting stuff: me babbling (under the influence of Fentanyl) while the doctor reduced (set) my fractured wrist. Parker said the doctor grabbed my hand and twisted until the bone popped back into place. I was awake throughout, but I'm glad I don't remember much. I do recall saying "ouch!"

Dr. Larson--the third orthopedic surgeon to have the pleasure of treating a Carling in recent years--put a cast on my arm, which he promptly cut down the back, to allow for swelling. (There are two metal nuts lodged in the gap, even as I type this, but the swelling is starting to subside.) If the bones stay aligned, I'll wear a cast for about four weeks. Thankfully, it doesn't go above my elbow, so I can bend my arm.

I had some pretty significant pain yesterday, but am feeling much better today. I had our Home Teacher give me a blessing yesterday; clearly it's helping. I'm taking today and tomorrow off from school. I should be okay to go on back Wednesday. Writing is a challenge, but will get better as the swelling goes away. I can type one-handed if I have to.

And so, if there's a moral to this sad tale, it would be this: don't get cocky; and go with your first impression, it's usually right. (You all thought I was going to say "Don't go snowboarding," didn't you? Honestly, I would try it again, but with wrist protection.)