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.)