The Terrible Triad

Yesterday was a very long day for me.

First of all, I woke up around 3:30 a.m. and was never able to really fall asleep again. This is because I've just gotten started on another really big sewing project: costumes for Uintah High's next musical, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. I did not go into this enterprise very enthusiastically (in fact, there may or may not have been some kicking and screaming involved)—because I have a lot of creating and sewing to do in only about thirty days. But as I've started imagining and then sewing I've had some really awesome ideas that I am very excited about (despite all the work). So when I woke up at 3:30 for my nightly bathroom run, these great ideas, and the equally great puzzle of how to bring them to fruition, kept me awake for the rest of the day.

Ooooh! What's all this?

Second, as I was heading to the high school to pick up Kaylie from rehearsal and to fit a couple of costume pieces to some kids, I slipped and fell on the ice. I dropped all my work in the snow and for a minute I was afraid that I might have ruined a satin gown from my Pianoforte collection that I was taking to use for a size-reference. Arghh!

And third, after going to bed around 1:00 a.m., and sleeping very badly for a very little while, here I am: awake again at 3:41 a.m.—according to my computer.

Now you might think that those things warrant the name of The Terrible Triad and, taken together, they are pretty obnoxious. But, no.

See, when I fell on the ice I landed directly on my right elbow. It was intensely painful! And I was angry that I fell down, and I really was worried about the dress that I dropped. But I figured I'd haul myself and all my stuff up and get to the school anyway. That (not very) comforting thought lasted about two seconds. My whole right arm was throbbing, and tingling, and hurting, and completely useless. I managed to get myself off the ground and into the house—leaving my precious wares on the driveway. Ruth Ann very kindly ran out to bring my things inside.

This dress. I thought that if it fit well I might be able to use the bodice pattern. But now I'm thinking probably not.

My right arm didn't want to do anything; it was just kind of dangling there. So I slipped out of my coat, lifted the sleeve of my sweater, and had a look. Dislocated for sure. (Ruth Ann and Hannah confirmed my hasty diagnoses, Hanna having dislocated her elbow just last summer.) I was sure I would have to go to the Emergency room; unfortunately I was the only grown-up in the house with a driver's license. And, besides all that, all I could keep thinking was that I don't have time for an injury like this right now; I have way too much to do!

After a series of phone calls Bishop Goodrich and his wife Tara came to drive me to the E.R. Fortunately they were not busy in the emergency room (probably because smart people were staying off of the ice). They took me back for a look-see pretty quickly. Tara went back with me and, in between ten million x-rays, talking to the doctor, and a CT scan, she and I had a nice visit, chatting about our families, childbirth, and whatever else we ladies like to talk about.

I just have to say that the x-rays and the CT scan were nasty. The technician, Joe, was super nice, and he was extremely gentle with my arm, but that limb of mine did not take kindly to changing positions. The pain was there while I was holding my arm still, but it was not terrible. But whenever any of my arm or shoulder muscles contracted it was excruciating—a lot like labor, actually.

Well it turns out that my elbow was actually broken. Great. But the first x-rays showed that it was not dislocated. Weird. I was sure  that it was dislocated when I left the house; it looked completely wrong.

Here's the deal—The Terrible Triad: I not only 1. broke my elbow, but I also 2. wrecked my ligaments which 3. made my elbow pop in and out of joint no matter how gently or carefully it was handled.

Aww! Look at my pretty bones! My pink arrows are pointing to little bits of broken off bone. They say I shattered my radial head.

By the time I was finding this out Bruce had arrived and switched places with Tara. (He had been performing in his very funny play, probably only half an hour into it at the time I fell. He got to me at about the time I went for the CT scan.) While I had been chatting and even joking with Tara and the nice staff at the ER, I was able to cry with Bruce there. My pressing worries? The costumes, and what am I going to do with myself while this heals?

Well, Dr. Anderson delivered the bad news that he would have to put my elbow back in place and splint it. Then I yelled! They tugged and pushed and pulled on my poor, sad arm but the really painful part was all the squeezing of my muscles. I'm telling you, it was like being in labor—from the level of pain, to the squeezing and almost biting Bruce's hand (I realized what I was doing just before I actually clamped his hand in my teeth), to the noise I was making—sounds I have not made since Jessica was born. (Although having a baby is more fun because when it's all done you get a baby. All I got out of this was a splint.) It was a huge relief to hear and feel my elbow pop back into place. I have never ever broken a bone before, but now I really did it. :-/

Then I cried on Bruce some more while they went to talk to their amazing, extra-highly-trained orthopedist...who said it is so bad that he wants me to see an elbow specialist at the University of Utah. Yes, I will need surgery. Away from home. And who knows how long it will take to heal? And what will I do while it's getting better? And what about my costume designs—will I have to give up on them?

I foresee more pain, the aggravation of being very dependent (while trying to use my left hand for everything when I am so right-handed that I almost wonder how I can even play the piano), and boredom, boredom, boredom ahead of me. A Terrible Triad indeed!