I broke my arm in two places two weeks ago running backwards because some guy told me to that. That pretty much sums up what happened.
It sounds much better if I just say it was Crossfit and leave out the part about it being the warm up, not to mention the stupidest warm up. I like to lovingly refer to Crossfit as “fat girl chaffing thigh meat while visually scarring unsuspecting motorists.” Crossfit sounds a lot cooler though.
For the past two weeks my arm has been in a splint from the elbow down. Last week I had surgery to repair the break and screw some plates in the wrist to fix it. My Terminator impression is going to be so on point now. The surgery involved general anesthesia which was a first for me. I was really hoping it would be like a really great nap and envisioned waking up feeling refreshed and happy (as happy as morphine allows). Turns out that was not the case. I joked that with my luck I would probably end up dead because of my lame injury under anesthesia. I told my friends and family that in the event of my death I did not want a funeral, but I would like for my ashes to be spread in the desserts of my enemies. That would make for some interesting chocolate chip cookies. However, my best friend pointed out that my ashes would likely be made mostly of diet coke, salsa, and chocolate cake since that’s about all I consumed so that would actually be delicious. Touche’, also, watch your back and beware of your next chocolate chip cookie.
After the surgery I woke up angry and in pain. The nerve block did not work and I was in a helluva lot of hurt. Not quite the restful sleep I had imagined. After a booster shot I calmed down and started using less swear words, so that was the nurse’s sign that I was doing okay.
Trying to get dressed was hilarious. Having an arm that was as useful as a vestigial tail was awesome. It felt like it weighed a ton bricks and just kinda swung there from my shoulder socket like a rock tied to a piece of rope in the wind. Standing triggered that awful overwhelming nausea sensation. I muttered super gracefully “please don’t let me puke” loud enough for the whole recover floor to hear me.
I did not puke! Huzzah!
I’m very lucky my mom and dad were able to take time off to come down and help our family function. It was such a miracle and sacrifice for them to be able to drop everything and travel 14 hours just to be here for that short amount of time. Brian could not get off work because of tax season, and while I’m stubborn, I knew I really needed my mom. Especially for things like washing my nasty greasy hair in the kitchen sink and helping me get my dumb leggings unrolled up my ankles… and also in case I did needed to puke. Moms are the best, totally made for barfing.
I’m still finding little things they did to help around the house, like wiping down the microwave, pairing up kid socks, and folding the laundry. As a mom it’s so nice when someone else can be the mom for a while, especially when all you want to do is sit on the couch and not parent. I cannot fathom trying to keep my tiny humans alive alone for those four days. I’m certain we would have ended up dead from a fish stick house fire incident or some equally embarrassing incident.
I mean after all, I am the type of person who breaks bones in a completely dumbass way. Stupid people really do do stupid things.