antecoitus

You can either call it misfortune or you can refer to it as a self-fulfilling dogged subconscious that would not allow me to kill myself over finishing the corporate budget in all its drama.

I broke my arm on September 3 when the back brake of my in-lines got stuck on a cleave on the lane (actually it was just a part of the park pavement) which sent me flying into the air, and breaking my fall, I decided to use my left arm. Then I heard the crack. At first I thought, ‘Fuck, my joints are louder than me, hehe’. I wasn’t laughing long though when sitting down I raised my hand and saw it moving all on its own, like it didn’t have any bones plus I noticed an extra elbow. I knew then that I was in trouble, but I did not come to terms with the gravity of it until one hour later after the trauma has lapsed. I was sitting there for a good five minutes damning myself— that I was going to miss my friend’s birthday party that night along with one of the better parties by Dan Marciano a French DJ; that I should not have been so stubborn to go to work on a Saturday and to unwind through rollerblading before tackling the numbers for the company and matching it with my business plan; that I was rollerblading alone (about five minutes from me, my boyfriend was doing a little skateboarding). I lifted my hand again and by that time a couple of young guys came to me asking if I needed help, I said, ‘No not really I just genuinely enjoy sitting in rollerblades’ and then I lifted my forearm. That was when a searing pain shot up from my arm to the tips of my split ended hair. That was when I realized to dump all good humor and shout at the two guys who were already staring at my arm for a good 10 seconds pale-faced and mouthing the word “dude…”. ‘Call my boyfriend, he’s at the ramp, I think I broke my arm’. I scolded myself simultaneously, “you think?!, your boss is going to kill you if you don’t kill yourself first with boredom at home.”. I knew that a cast was in order… and a good six weeks at home at least.

W came and started involuntarily shaking at the sight of my arm; he took my in lines off and kept kissing me on the forehead and the cheek reassuring me that everything is going to be alright. I was not crying nor was I hysterical, maybe from embarrassment or maybe from the belief that once I started crying I’ll feel the pain more. There was a hospital five minutes from my crime scene. They took me to emergency and gave me a painkiller shot and two pills then they sent me to x-ray and cardio check. While I was answering some questions for the records after that, the doctor came in with a nice surprise. They actually have a name for the damage style, I think they called it Montagio something or the other and he also informed me that I also have a dislocated elbow so I have to stay overnight to prepare for the operation early the next day since the anesthesiologist is not in that day. They have to do two cuts, one for the forearm and one for the elbow and also insert a metal bar with six crews at least to hold the broken bone parts together while they grow for a year. As if this is not punishment enough though, they said that they have to put me in a cast before the operation. They have to straighten the bone without anesthesia to keep me from moving it overnight. That was the best part. Moving the forearm at that point meant excruciating pain, like an itch you can’t scratch I couldn’t tell anymore where the pain was coming from. I felt like a migraine incarnate. W held my face in his hands turning it away from the scene, kissing me and telling me how brave I was, actually everyone was saying that in chorus, I guess they know the anguish I was going through. When they tried to put the two independent bones back together I was already wailing like a virgin whale experiencing her first orgasmic ecstasy. I cursed everything that I could curse until the cast was completely wrapped around the hand. All I can think of was work and partying and how I was going to waste the rest of the summer at home. Oh, and I was also wondering if I was going to get a lollipop after the ordeal. I didn’t. Apparently, I was not five anymore.

W stayed in the hospital until the nurses asked him to go home, I must have had 4 shots of strong painkillers before I fell asleep only to wake up crying for 2 hours because of the pain again. That was roughly how the next 4 days in the hospital was spent, getting high with painkillers and repeating the story of my gracefulness to every visitor that came for me.

I was in a cast for 4-5 more weeks after that and I am currently on therapy. I have not managed to recover full use of my arm yet, I cannot drive and I have just learned to type. During those weeks I was at least every other day in the office or working at home but I still got the relaxation I needed.

My mom told me that it was God’s way of telling me to slow down. I think she’s right, I’ve always been like that, I stop only when I have to. And it probably took all the patience God could muster before he decided to yank me and make me stop. I just think that maybe he yanked too hard he managed to break my arm. Oh well, I’m going back there on October 2006 so they can take out the platinum. Until that time, though, I’d have to figure out a way to convince airport security that I do not smuggle firearms whenever I travel. I have a feeling that the metal detectors would adore me.   

*** I feel I owe it to me to document this. I loved the experience.