I normally don't like to toot my own horn, but what you may not know is that this funky looking wrist is the product of a sacrificial, heroic feat that should someday be included in the history books. On September 13th, 2010, Rachel and I were cruisin' along the trail at Freeman Park on the new Rollerblades my friends had bought me for my birthday. (Well, we weren't both on my Rollerblades; Rachel had her own pair. . . but you know what I mean.) After we had gone most of the length of the trail, we came to a hill. As we were descending the hill in high style, some elderly folks who must've been hard of hearing crossed our path. Not having enough time to stop and not wanting to run over them, Rachel and I risked our lives and purposely crashed into the side of the trail. The old people were safe!! We were heroes!!
Okay, okay. Maybe that's not exactly how it happened. Actually, the funky looking wrist is the product of my fear and stupidity, which is generally not a very good combination. Let's rewind to an hour before Rachel and I set out on our Rollerblading expedition. I was talking on the phone to my mom, telling her that Rachel and I were getting ready to go out Rollerblading.
"Oh, Honey! Do you have a helmet??"
"No, Mom. I'll be fine. I remember your tips on how to safely roll off a sled when I see I am about to hit a tree. I'll bet it works for Rollerblading, too."
"Okay. Well, do you have wrist guards? You don't want to break a wrist. You wouldn't be able to play the violin and dulcimer anymore."
"Mom, I'll be okay. If I fall, I'll make a point not to put my hands out to catch myself."
"How will you catch yourself then?"
"I'll just let my body fall and roll."
"Then you'll need a helmet, dear. I don't want you to break your fall with your head."
"Mom, I'll be fine. We'll go very slowly."
"Okay, Honey. You know I worry about you. Just be careful."
"I will. Love you."
"Love you, too, Sweetie."
So Rachel and I head out on our Rollerblades with no helmets or wrist guards. The trail at Freeman Park is pretty flat, so we were doing pretty well on the Rollerblades. About halfway around the trail, we stopped at a bench because I needed to adjust one of my Rollerblades. I sat down to make the necessary adjustments. As I was doing so, my good friend Melissa sent me a text message:
"How's the Rollerblading going?"
"It's great!! I haven't broken anything yet!"
"That's good! Well have fun and be safe!!"
"Thanks!"
So Rachel and I continue on. Soon we come to a hill. (Yes, I am aware that I have swtiched to present-tense verbs. I feel they are more effective at this point in my narrative.)
"Umm. . . Rachel, do you think we should attempt to go down this hill?"
"Sure. We'll take it easy."
"Rach, I don't know how to use my brakes."
"It'll be fine. I'll go in front."
"O-k-k-kay."
Rachel takes off down the hill. I follow. Rachel is keeping a nice, steady pace. I, however, start accelerating very quickly. Too quickly.
"RACHEL!!!! I CAN'T STOP!!!"
"Calm down, just turn your foot a little and let it drag. It will slow you down."
"AGGHHHH!!!! I CAN'T STOP!!!"
"Kim, don't panic. You're doing great."
"AAAGGGGHHHH!!! THERE ARE PEOPLE DOWN THERE!! I'M GOING TO HIT THEM!!"
"Kim! No, you're not. Just slow down. Don't panic."
"AAAAGGGHHH!! I CAN'T STOP! I'M PANICKING!!"
"Kim, you're being dramatic. Calm down."
"MOVE, PEOPLE!! I'M GOING TO HIT YOU!!! AAAGGGHHHH!!!"
The four, obviously hard-of-hearing old people keep walking, blocking the entire width of the path.
At this point I catch up to Rachel and grab her in a bear hug as I pass her. We both spin around two or three times before hitting the pavement, rolling over one another as we tumble down the hill. We come to a stop at the bottom of the hill, and the old people continue walking, oblivious to the whole spectacle.
A nice man comes running and asks us if we're okay. We start to get up. Rachel gets up almost immediately. I roll over and attempt to push myself up. I get up on my knees and notice that my wrist looks a little funny.
"Oh my. I think my wrist is broken. I think my wrist is broken! It's broken! I just know it's broken!!"
"Kim, you don't know that. Calm down. Just calm down."
"Rachel! Look at it!"
She looks at it.
"Oh dear. Okay. I know where the emergency room is!"
At this point, I'm cradling my wrist while the nice guy and his wife take my Rollerblades off. Rachel runs back to the car to get my shoes. When she returns, I'm up on my feet and we begin walking to the car. I feel very nauseated at this point.
On the way to the ER, I'm trying to hold my cookies and not cry at the same time. When we arrive, we walk up to the desk and I almost pass out. Some nurse gets me a wheel chair and rolls me into triage. The room is very messy and one of the guys rummages through the junk on his desk and finds a magazine that's buried under a McDonald's bag. He wraps the magazine around my wrist and tapes it. Then he asks me a few questions.
"When's your birthday?"
"September 13th."
"Oh, that's today! Happy birthday."
"Thanks."
"What's your height?"
"Five-eight"
"Weight?"
"Mumble, mumble, mumble."
"Allergic to anything?"
"Ragweed."
"Um. Okay. Allergic to any medications?"
"Benadryl knocks me out, but I think that's a normal side effect."
"Um. Okay. Thanks. Does anything else besides your wrist hurt?"
"Nope." (Knowing that I was heading for X-rays next, I wasn't about to tell him that my tailbone was hurting!)
He finishes his questions and says, "Okay. You're free to go."
Umm. . . a magazine?? For a splint?? Are you serious?? What kind of place is this?! I'm going to be charged a few thousand bucks and they wrap a magazine around my wrist?? Rachel assures me it's just a temporary splint while I'm in the waiting room to go back for X-rays.
As we're sitting in the waiting room, Rachel makes a few phone calls to let people know that we're in the hospital. At this point I'm in a lot of pain. Rachel asks me if she can get me anything. I tell her I'm thirsty. She goes to the front desk and asks for some water. The lady nicely tells her that I'm not allowed to drink anything. That makes me mad.
We wait FOREVER.
A nurse comes out.
"LaShonda Moore?" [DISCLAIMER: This name and the following names are made up.]
We look around. No one is getting up. I pipe up hopefully, "I'm Kimberly Moore."
"No. I need LaShonda Moore."
sigh
Eventually a lady comes running into the room. "Sorry. I needed to get a drink."
(SHE gets a drink?? That's not fair.)
So we continue waiting.
The same nurse comes out again.
"Bertha Moore?"
Again, no one moves.
"I'm Kimberly Moore!"
"No. I need Bertha Moore."
sigh
Bertha hears her name and puts her magazine aside and follows the nurse.
And we wait some more (moore???)
The nurse comes out again.
"Julius Moore?"
No one moves. I look around.
"Are you sure you don't mean Kimberly Moore?"
"No, honey, I meant Julius Moore. Julius Moore?? Is there a Julius Moore in here?"
Julius gets up and follows the nurse.
Sigh. The whole Moore family must be here for some reason. I wonder if maybe it's carbon monoxide poisoning or something.
Finally the nurse calls, "Kimberly Moore?"
"Do you mean me?"
"Are you Kimberly Moore?"
"Yes."
"Then I mean you."
"Good. I'm not related to those other people."
"I know." The nurse rolls her eyes.
I'm pushed back to X-rays. The nurse says it's okay for Rachel to come with me. We get back to the X-ray station. There's some young cocky blonde guy sitting at the desk eating his supper. The nurse informs him he has a patient.
"Good. I'm bored.I need some entertainment."
He pushes me back to the X-ray room.
"So what happened?"
"I broke my wrist."
"How'd you do that?"
"I was Rollerblading."
"Why were you Rollerblading?"
"Um. Because I wanted to."
"Did you fall?"
"Uh, yes."
"You're not supposed to fall."
"Um. I know."
"So why'd you fall?"
"I don't know!! Because I wanted to, maybe?!!"
At this point, I'm getting rather perturbed at his attempts to be funny. I'm in a lot of pain and I just want somebody to do something to make my wrist feel better.
He takes 40 million X-rays of my wrist. As he's looking at the X-rays in the other room, I hear him say, "Woah. That doesn't look good."
"Cool. Look at that!"
"Ooh. Gross. That's nasty."
Again, I panic.
He comes out and and I ask him, "Am I going to need surgery?"
"Definitely."
"Are you sure?"
"Oh, yeah. You did a doozy on your wrist."
"When will I have it?"
"Tonight."
"Oh, no! Oh, no! I don't want surgery! I can't have surgery!"
I begin to cry. I've never been to an emergency room, and I've never had to have surgery!! This was not good news. Rachel tells the guy that he is NOT funny.
Finally, the cocky blonde guy takes compassion on me and tries to comfort me. He apologizes for joking around with me when it was obviously an inappropriate time. Another guy (who's much nicer) rolls me into another room where my wrist is examined.
The nice lady in the bright room gives me some pain killers. Those make me happy. Very happy. I ask her if I really have to have surgery tonight.
"What?? No! Who told you that?!"
"The X-ray guy."
"Girl, pay no attention to him. He's a jerk."
Needless to say, I was very relieved. I was even more relieved when my mommy-away-from-home mommy arrived at the hospital. I guess Rachel must have called her. It is comforting to have someone who's like a mom be with you when you're traumatized and your real mom can't be there.
The nurse puts my arm in a real, honest-to-goodness splint, tells me to call the orthopaedic doctor in the morning to make arrangements for getting my bones reset and having a real cast put on, and sends me off with a prescription for pain killers.
So Rachel, Mommy-away-from-home mommy, and I head out to the parking lot (I got to ride the wheel chair again!!) and head off to get my prescription. We get the prescription and take Mommy-away-from-home mommy back to her car. Then Rachel and I head home where Dawn is waiting with my birthday cake:
As you can see, pain killers and chocolate cake make me very happy. The moral of the story? Don't go Rollerblading. And if you do go Rollerblading, make sure you have great friends who will take you to the ER and give you cake when you return home.
