Yes, fractured, in several places, the nonchalant Orthopod declared. He was distracted, and unhelpful, but did advise I come back in a week for a follow up x-ray to make sure the bones hadn't shifted. He wrote me a scrip for 10 sessions of physical therapy, to start way sooner than I thought practical, and a nurse fitted me with a sling. Weeks later when my bill arrived showing more than $600 in "aftercare" along with the office visit and x-ray charges, I had to go through three levels of office staff to get them to agree to wipe it off my account. Standard practice to heap on some future charges they told me, even if those were not anticipated, as in my case since I did not need surgery. Ah, the joys of American health care.
First and foremost, I must declare how thankful I was that it was my arm, and not my leg that I broke. At the initial appointment for an x-ray, I saw two hobblers with broken legs/ankles. It appeared our Helena lack of road plowing, coupled with thaws turning roads in to puddles of frozen water, had disrupted many a life that week.
As a runner, a broken leg/ankle would have landed me on the sidelines for many weeks if not months. Since my running start, on April 23, 1990, I have rarely had to take an injury break from running. A true blessing. The arm put me out of commission for a week from any exercise and work. Desperation set in and I asked my daughter for Netflix recommendations for the down time. I happily took up her suggestion of Offspring, an Aussie production following family drama of one Nina Proudman, a ditzy, magnetic ob-gyn.
At the end of the week, I set my mind to undertake some kind of physical exertion and took to walking, arm in sling, a 3.5 mile loop by the hospital while listening to downloaded podcasts. These outings, although a different nature than my runs, satisfied my desire to stay active until I could resume running. After a few brisk walks, then a few half run half walk treks, I resumed running my regular schedule, three miles, four times a week.
Aspirin was my only pain killer, I've never been a druggie except for a few fun times as a teen/early 20-something with hallucinogens and such. Carefully moving my arm as I would a paralyzed small pet, I got as much sleep as I could and learned to use my left hand/arm for everyday chores. I chopped six inches off my hair for ease in brushing and learned to navigate the mouse with my left hand once back to work.
It took a full eight months to get back to 100%, although the few months prior hovered at 90-95%. Even now, when I shovel snow, it's been an exceptionally snowy winter, it still bothers me a bit. Of course I neglected the typical physical therapy routine; however, I did stretch and move it regularly to coax it back to normal.
It's ironic after almost 28 years of running that it was the walk out to my car that caused my first serious injury. Sure I've fallen running, usually a couple of times a year, more from not paying attention to the uneven sidewalks than ice, but it usually resulted in a skinned knee or the palm of my hand. Or, if I was really on top of it, I'd manage to aim into green grass, or grab a fence to keep from going down.
My goal is to run for a couple more years until retirement, then likely walk several times a week to keep the blood pumping and the heart strong. I figure an even 30 years is a good place to stop.
