I Am The Mill: A Different Kind of Break

I may have a broken bone in my left wrist. The x-rays were inconclusive, so I go in for an MRI today.

I realize this is rather unremarkable, save for the fact that this bone may have done broke 8 weeks ago. Also, I'm left handed. I've been writing, carrying groceries, driving, doing dishes and typing fairly normally since then. I've even used chopsticks on several occasions.

Did you know you could break a bone in one of the most heavily used parts of your body and not realize it for 2 months? Obviously, I didn't either. My only clues were the sharp pains when I put any weight on my left hand with the palm flat against a surface - door, desk chair, countertop, rhinoceros thigh, etc. And this just wasn't getting any better.

I thought I could tough it out. I figured it would heal on its own, and that it was just some kind of mother of a sprain or strain. A big momma of a tweaked wrist, if you will.

At least I know exactly when I hurt myself. And believe me when I say it's a less-than-exciting story. Even so, I'd like to describe the scenario on that fateful wrist-injuring day.

Jaimi and I watched TV - probably Andrew Zimmern's Bizarre Foods, or maybe The Office. It was chilly and gray outside on that God-forsaken Sunday afternoon. Jaimi enjoyed an ice cold diet root beer. Let's just assume I had a regular beer.

All of a sudden a cry rings out in the apartment!! Since there are only two of us living here, and I wasn't the one who shouted - I thought to myself - Jaimi must be in some kind of trouble. She was sitting three feet away from me, so it wasn't difficult to investigate. I just needed to turn my head away from the TV, and towards her troubled, shouting self.

The root beer!! The root beer!! It had spilled all over the coffee table. Oh shit!! Why hath the lord wrought tragedy and suffering with the spillage of such a dark, rich, artificially-sweetened brew?

Before the situation got any worse, I needed to do something. And fast.

I leapt from my seat in stockinged feet - like a mountain cat on a rabbit hunt - and sped towards the kitchen. I knew what could clean up this mess. A little something called paper towels.

As I approached the kitchen (about 20 feet from the TV) it was time to begin my deceleration process. I calculated the appropriate force necessary in order to slow my progress, and applied said force to the wood floor via my foot. Unfortunately, I applied this force on an area of the floor that, for some reason only knowable to the cleaning lady, is much more highly waxed than the rest of the floor.

Before I knew it, my feet were in the air, and my ass crashed to the floor. I instinctively used my left hand to break the fall. What a terrible instinct. It's a wonder that I even made it to this age with insitincts like that.

As soon as I hit the deck, I thought I broke my wrist. It didn'y hurt too badly, but the sheer impact was so violent, that I thought no mere mortal's wrist could sustain such a blow without serious damage. The next day though, very little swelling and only a bit of stiffness.

I thought I was Wolverine.

As it turns out, I'm not Wolverine, and I did probably break a bone. And it's not healing very quickly at all. So if I were a superhero, my ability would be that of someone who takes a very long time to heal. I guess my power would really be the ability to elicit sympathy from others.

Anyway, I'm sure it would heal up eventually, although I may need to be in a splint or cast for a while. It will be difficult to type, but I will persevere.