I met with my surgeon once again today. He’s given me clearance to start therapy to recover movement and function of my wrist and hand. The highlight of the visit was learning that my doc is pleased with my progress — I was reassured that I’m at a ‘normal’ part of healing and am not woefully far behind or unfixable. (More on that in a later post!)
Because I’m using our blog as a sort of ’scrapbook’ for our family, and because what’s been going on with my arm has pretty much consumed our January, please forgive me as I retell the story up to this point. I’ll warn any who are weak in the tummy — skip the pictures below! The last picture shows what my arm looks like right now. So much better!!!
Two days after Christmas I broke my right arm at the wrist The break was complete through the radius and also fractured the ulna. The bones compressed so that I needed surgery two days later where the surgeon inserted a metal plate to hold my bones in place. ouch.
I love how Rick tells the story, so here it is!
While leading a kids ministry class at CityView this past Sunday (11am service), Steph needed to go to the kitchen down the hall to retrieve something. Our second daughter was going with her and Steph thought it would be a great idea to challenge the weaker, younger family female to a race down the hall. I of course approve of such challenges so that our girls understand who the alpha-female in the household is…but I digress.
About halfway down the hall–while running in her mid-healed (and I might add…sexy) boots– Steph tripped over our daughter and heroically chose not to fall on top of the young and fragile Anna Beth. Instead she flailed the other direction, where her body was met by a wall that apparently did not “give” way to her body…thereby ricocheting her the other direction while gravity did its work–promptly sending her to the tile floor where her hand attempted to stop her fall.
Apparently the violent nature of the ricochet, her own weight (I’m going mainly with the ricochet, since she’s obviously light as a bird–;) ), and her feminine-like bone-structure coincided to create the break/s. Upon realizing what just happened she exclaimed matter-of-factly to anyone in ear’s distance…”I broke my arm”. Of course, she was already delirious at this point, because she had not-in fact-broke her arm…but her wrist (silly wife).
That’s the story…so for anyone looking for a moral to this true story, here are a few:
1. From Anna Beth’s mouth–”Momma…you shouldn’t run in the halls…that’ why our teachers at school tell us to not run in the halls. You could get hurt.”
2. Never challenge a 6 year old to a race in a narrow hallway while wearing boots. The six year old is probably going to be the hallway equivalent of a deer in the road to a car. A raccoon can be run over…but a deer is gonna’ hurt the car.
3. My personal favorite: Kids Ministry Workers cannot be a weak bunch. Their calling is a heroic one and the dangers are real. Therefore, all Kids ministry workers are to have your love and respect for going out, doing battle week after week with the like of 6 year olds.
I’m sure there’s more, but my creative juices are running out. Feel free to embellish this story and make much more of it if you wish. Rabid dolphins with lasers on their foreheads would be a nice touch…but I’ll leave that up to the reader .
Prior to surgery. Smiling for the camera because I’m too doped up and in too much pain to worry about anything. Ready to get on the road to healing!
Post surgery. I wore this & then later a hard splint for the first couple of weeks. The fall caused numbness in my fingers so the doc decided to open up my carpel tunnel. At this point in my recovery I couldn’t feel my part of my thumb or my three middle fingers. Feeling slowly returned over the next weeks.
One week post op I get a view of what my arm looks like. It was SHOCKING to say the least!
As was this. It was at this point that the nurse said that I needed to start wiggling my fingers, which I could just barely do.
Taken after I’d gotten a glimpse of my arm. Somehow it was much less painful when it was safely tucked away!
One week later and out come the stitches. Let me just say that it HURT like crazy. Some of the skin had grown and attached itself to the stitches, so I needed all of my natural childbirth training to manage the pain. See the redness? That’s my skin saying ‘NO!’ I waited to cry until after we left the office. Poor, poor Stephanie and her Franken-arm. Dogs will bark! Women will shield their eyes! Children will run screaming! Rick bought me a Starbucks coffee and all was right again in the world.
Which leads to today: 5 weeks after surgery. I’m titling this picture, “Recovering.”
Much good has come through the pain of this process. I’m expecting more pain and more good. In my arm. In my life.
Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer. — Romans 12:12
Ha!
