December

I have loved Colorado since the moment we pulled into the parking lot of the oh so lovely Parkway Apartments almost 3 years ago.  The mountains behind the Denver skyline, the parks, the dry air, the lack of Memphis-like crime...it was all so refreshing.  Skiing/hiking/biking/rafting were all within an hour's drive. It even had a huge volleyball scene.  I knew that I would live in this city as long as I possibly could.  Life (in terms of location at least) was almost perfect.  But this...this is just unbelievable. 

My first full ski season in Colorado was amazing.  But everyone who had lived here for a while kept saying how awful that season was, but at the time I thought any snow was incredible, so I still appreciated it.  Then I guess I started to turn into a real Coloradan.  Cause the next season (2009-2010) DID suck.  It was so awful.  This is coming from someone who had barely experienced snow until 3 years ago and had one whole ski season in the mountains on which to judge.  But I will say it again- it stunk. Bad.

Let's move forward to 2010.  First of all, let's not discount this year's summer.  The summer of 2010 was absolutely perfect in so many ways.  There were so many pristine, sunny days for hiking and so many gorgeous weekends for multi-day camping..  But again, this...this is just unbelievable.  Of the 6 days I've been up to ski season, not one has proved disappointing.  Not one!  I'm used to icy Novembers and Decembers- not this time, folks.  This is already shaping up to be...ok I have to say it...epic.

The best part about the fact that the mountains have been getting DUMPED on is that Denver hasn't!  It's been in the 50's and sunny most days!

Off Topic

The following random post will not have anything to do with my wrist.  It is merely a reflection on my life recently.  I apologize if you don't find it the least bit funny.  It's actually not supposed to be funny, so please don't laugh.

I'm not really a religious person, never have been.  I was the 5 year old who asked my mom where God came from.  Terrified, she told me to ask my pastor, which I promptly did.  When he replied, "He's always been here", I didn't buy it.  Recently, however, I've started to think that somebody or something has my life mapped out for me already.  Have you ever thought about that?  I mean, really, things seem to constantly fall into place.  Maybe I'm just the luckiest person in the world, but just when I am sure that my life is in shambles and I have no clue what I am doing or where I am going, something happens or someone comes along to make sense of it all.  Every time, without fail, it falls into place.

Something has to be responsible for that.  Whether it's God or Buddha or even just plain fate, something is making this happen.  I would say it's karma, but I don't think I have done nearly enough good deeds to deserve such a wonderful life full of so many wonderful people.  That's another thing I have started to realize- my life has been made so much better by the people around me.  Sure, my own goals and decisions have improved my situation (somewhat), but I would be nowhere without my friends and family.  I am so blessed to have all of you.

I guess whoever is mapping out my life is trying to equal the playing field a bit- absolutely nothing good has come from me breaking my wrist.  Unless you count not having to lift stuff for work anymore a 'benefit.'  Actually...now that I think about it...breaking my wrist kept me from spending a summer in Costa Rica.  This is going to sound crazy, but if I had gone, I might have missed out on something really great things this spring/summer.  And that would be a real tragedy.

But let's see- I was set on going to UGA for undergrad for a solid year.  Once I got in, I randomly decided to go to Charleston instead.  I didn't have a phenomenal time when I visited or even care about the campus so much, but for some reason I changed my mind.  If  had gone to UGA, I would have missed out on a 5 year relationship that impacted my life in so many MANY positive ways.  If I had never been in that relationship, I might not have ever moved to Denver.  And I don't even need to explain how sad that would be.  I didn't play volleyball in college, which I have always seen as a mistake.  But what if I had?   Would I have the friends I have now?  Would I be ripped with mannish muscle?  Probably.  But really, why didn't I want to play?  And then, why did I decide to go to Beaver Creek on a terrible icey day in April?  I wouldn't have broken my wrist, but my life might be extremely different right now.

I'm telling you- it may not seem like it at the time, but things are all coming together in their own mysterious, twisted way.

Anyways, I hope all of you have had or will have the same luck that I have had.  Maybe my Aunt Shirley is in heaven, helpin' me out.  If she's the one controlling all the good things in my life, I hope each one of you has an Aunt Shirley to watch out for you one day too.

Last appointment...hopefully

Well, folks...I had what was supposed to be my last doctor's appointment yesterday morning.  I went into the doctor's office with only the worst case scenarios in mind.  Is he going to put me back in a hard cast?  Maybe I'll spring for the glow-in-the-dark this time... Is he going to say I need surgery?  Maybe I'll get some good pain meds... Is he going to lecture me again for not being careful enough?  Maybe I'll come up with a smart ass comeback this time...After spending a fun filled weekend in Lake Tahoe for the 4th, I felt like I had done my wrist a few disservices.  I wasn't exactly careful with it.  I wore the splint on the jet ski...but I'm not sure it made any difference. It just got really wet and made my arm all prune-y.  The constant lifting of beer and cocktails was also quite the strain on my arm.  I didn't notice the soreness until the following day though...I wonder why.  Oh, and then there was the mini-golf.  I didn't wear my splint while I played because it was still soaked from the jet ski ride. Now that I think about it though, I don't think the mini-golf hurt me much.  I tried to keep it as straight as possible while I putted, which probably explains why I had, BY FAR, the worst score of our 8 person group.

I also completely forgot to put extra sunscreen on the pale half of my arm, so I now have a tri-colored arm.  Tan fingers. Red hand. White tan line from a hair tie I wore at the lake. Red forearm.  Tan elbow.  It's quite the look.  Dr. Heyman actually said "Well, it doesn't look too swollen.  But, I'm trying to figure out why you are so bruised."  He cracked a smile when I told him it was just a purple sunburn.

Final verdict- I was cleared.  Unrestricted.  Finished.  Done like a turkey on Thanksgiving. Stick a fork in me. Dun-zo. Tupac must be alive.

If I still have pain in 2 months, I have to go back.  Everyone, please cross your fingers for me that I never have to go back to that awful, awful place.  I have this fear that he mixed up the x-rays or something, and I'm going to get a call this afternoon saying that I need an amputation.  For right now, though, I am going to try and accept that I am once again a 2-handed human being. 

If you don't mind, I will issue one more complaint about this whole situation (for old times sake).  I had finally adjusted to asking people for help all the time.  Now I have to actually lift stuff on my own again!  Lame.  I could have other people cut my toenails and tie my shoes. And when I say 'other people', I really mean Anne Lee.  I also had a real reason to whine about laundry.  You can't always complain about laundry, because everyone has to do it.  But, having only my left hand, my friends and family actually let me get away with feeling sorry for myself on laundry day...and almost every other day.  Most of all, though, I had something to talk about.  What the heck am I going to talk about now?

Ok, yes, I realize that was more like 4 complaints, but who's really counting?

Countdown to recovery:  -1 day.  I'm marking July 6th an official JCM holiday.  I think I'll do handstands every year on July 6th in celebration.

Getting worse?

I'm afraid my wrist is regressing.  It looks a little...well...swollen.  Is that bad?  I really haven't done anything to hurt it though.  I even swallowed my pride and started asking people in my office for help lifting heavy things.   All I did was follow doctors orders to wear the splint about 50% of the time, and it swells up on me.  I'm putting that stupid splint on right now and not taking it off until I see Dr. Heyman again.

There's also this weird bone beneath my right palm that seems to be sticking out a little more than it was a few weeks ago.  The question is- did the area around the bone swell up because it's injured or does it just SEEM to be protruding more because there are no muscles in my wrist to protect it?

If it was actually going to be healed in 2 weeks, I think it would feel better than it does right now.  This is ridiculous.  I try to move it around every day, but I can't tell if my pain is because it's still broken or because it's just stuck in place after not having moved for 9 weeks.  Can you say frustrated?  I can.  I can say it over and over and over again.  Frustrated.  Oh, and over it.

Countdown to tentative recovery:  who knows anymore.  I'll probably heal the same day that Tupac Shakur ACTUALLY shows up alive.

the past few weeks

I had a request from a reader to write about how my arm has been doing for the past 3 weeks.  No, I am not making that up.  Someone did actually make that request.

I've been living my life.  Takin' it one day at a time, ya know?  Some days I forget that my arm is injured until I try to do something like push a drawer closed...then I remember real quick.  Some days I wake up and stretch and I feel like I am pulling a muscle in my forearm just by fully extending it. Some days I just stare at my emaciated arm, mesmerized with the fact that I can feel the outline of all my bones and cartilage. 

This splint has not been kind to my clothing.  Velcro does not agree with satin, cotton, cashmere, lycra, chiffon...or even polyester for that matter.  I have snags in just about everything I own now, with the exception of my jeans.  Now that I can actually fold and iron my clothes, they look like I've had them since the 6th grade. Mom- if you're reading...wanna send me some shopping money?  I can't bear to go outside with a snag in my nice new target wife-beater.  I would no longer be able to impress the jorts guys who lives in my building.  Just kidding- you really think I own a chiffon article of clothing?

The good news is that my range of motion is slowly coming back.  If I had to guess, I would say I'm at about 80% when it comes to bending my wrist around.  My arm hair is also lightening in some sections.  It's more of a gradual change to black now, rather than a legitimate LINE where it changes from blonde to black.

Aside from the stiffness and the appearance of my arm, I still constantly feel sorry for myself for not being able to do lots of things I like to do (or things I would like to TRY to do).  Why has everyone I know suddenly taken up a serious interest in bowling?  It seems to be EVERYONE'S first suggestion when deciding on something to do.  Are they trying to mess with me?  Maybe they know I can't come and are just trying to get rid of me.  That would be kinda mean.  Regardless, I would appreciate it if the word 'bowling' didn't come up in conversation for a while.

On Monday, I went for a nice run in Washington Park.  My old volleyball team plays on Mondays in the same park, so I stopped by to say hi and watch their game.  I probably shouldn't do that again until I can play.  It was pretty depressing.  They tried to make me feel better by telling me how cool my splint looks, but I'm pretty sure they were actually making fun of me.  Then they lost the game- so that made me laugh a little on the inside. 

Countdown to tentative full recovery: 65 days down, 19 to go.

And it continues

It's been 3 weeks since the fiberglass came off, and well, 3 weeks since my last post. I will personally apologize to 2 people in particular for not writing- you know who you are.

I had my 4th, and what I expected to be my last, doctor's appointment yesterday. As stiff as my wrist still is, I had this glimpse of hope that I would be cleared to play volleyball, do handstands, and maybe even throw an occasional shot-put. I have GOT to stop getting my hopes up. Apparently, my fracture looks the same as it did 3 weeks ago, when Dr. Heyman said "give it 3 weeks." Now, that 3 weeks has turned into 6, and my original 12 week recovery time line is back on.

I could tell that Dr. Heyman felt bad. Deep down, he really wanted to say "GO! Run around! Use your hand! Drive with your right hand! Lift with your right hand! Do whatever your right hand wants to do!" But instead, he looked at me with that usual blank stare and said in a rather monotone voice, "Give me 3 more weeks. Then we'll be done with each other."

As part of my job, I coordinate the execution of both paid for caterings and sponsored marketing events. Since we are a small operation, I personally end up shifting around a decent amount of catering equipment. Some of this equipment is not the least bit lightweight. In fact, some of it is pretty heavy. But it's part of my job, and they pay me to do it, so I try not to complain. (Please note the word 'try' in that last comment) So when Dr. Heyman asked me yesterday if I had been lifting heavy things since I got my cast off, I felt myself turn a crimson shade of red. Anyone who knows me should be familiar with the color- my face turns this shade fairly often. Anyways, I hadn't had more than 2 seconds to respond when he said in a not so monotone voice- "DO NOT DO THAT." He then proceeded to show me the x-ray of a guy who just HAPPENED to be my age, who just HAPPENED to have an appointment earlier that morning and whose bones just HAPPENED to still be up on the x-ray viewing thingy. This guy also just HAPPENED to have broken his scaphoid a few months back. For some reason, I think Dr. Heyman had anticipated that I wouldn't have followed his orders and was armed with plenty of ammo to make sure I listen this time. I guess this guy didn't let himself heal, and now his bone is literally in 2 pieces and needs a bone graft, screws, etc, etc, etc.

Thank you, docta, for once again scaring the poo out of me.

I'm so ready for this to be over. I wonder if I could get some sort of workman's compensation settlement because my job prolonged my recovery.  I'm gonna go discuss that with HR.

Countdown to full recovery: 63 days down, 21 to go.

There IS a God

I have incredible bones.  I think it has something to do with the fact that I sometimes eat cereal twice a day.  Some credit is probably due to the bone stimulator that I've been using religiously...but I think it's mostly my freakishly iguana-like bones (and the milk in my cereal of course).

The nurse busted out the super scary saw again.  It really wasn't scary at all this time, but it still looks kinda intimidating. Her first comment was "Nice tan line."  Cause it is pretty NIIIICE. 



Not only do I have a tan line, but I am literally MOLTING.  Yes, molting.  Like a snake.  This didn't happen instantly, but over the past few hours, every inch of skin on my hand has started to peel off.  It's quite the distraction really.  I'm having trouble getting much work done because of it.  If you ever need a serious skin exfoliant, just break a bone.  Trust me, it will work.  Ew, and here's something that is a huge mystery to me- the hair on my arm turned black.  Jet black hair on a ghostly white arm.  It's really unattractive.  I hope no one is eating while reading this...if anyone is even reading this at all...

After the saw came the fun x-rays. The first 2 were easy- just sit there and take a picture of your bones.  The 3rd one, though- ouch.  I had to bend my wrist outward so they could get a picture of my messed up bone.  It was so painful.  I knew right then and there that the cast was going right back on.  Well, this is the first thing that I have actually been HAPPY to be wrong about.

Dr. Heyman: "Well that's weird.  You healed really fast. I can't even make out the break.  You want a soft cast now?"
Me: "Is that even a question?"
Dr. Heyman: "Well, yes it is."


I told you guys he was awkward.


Now, when he says healed, he means that I healed enough to wear a splint instead of a stupid awful ugly cast.  I still can't exactly move my wrist much, but my range of motion is supposed to come back with time.  I guess the pain I had during the x-ray was just from my wrist basically getting stuck in place. As long as it's not broken anymore, I don't care why it hurts.  Anyways, people- I no longer have a fiberglass arm.  It's glorious.  Weird, but glorious.  Thank you, oh thank you Baby Jesus!  I'm so happy, that I might just sing the University of Memphis fight song right now....just sang it.  I hope all you Tigers fans sing it today too- it's a fun one to sing regardless of what you are celebrating.

I know the few of you who actually read this are sad to know the blog is probably coming to an end.  I will post a few more to outline how my wrist is progressing now that it is back in the sun, but those will be few and far between....

On second thought...maybe I'll just continue this blog as a means to complain about other random things that bother me.  Yep, I think I'll do that.  I'm really good at being negative and complaining about things that don't bother anyone but me, so I should be able to come up with a decent amount of content.


Countdown to tentative cast removal: 72 days down.  0 to go.  Now, that's one big fat zero.

Thursday

Today is Thursday.  And tomorrow is Friday. Soon it will be next Tuesday.  Ah, next Tuesday. It could be either the first day of the rest of my life...or it could be the 1st day of the next 6 weeks.  Dear Lord, please let Dr. Heyman cut this stupid thing off me and give me a splint for the next 6 weeks.  I sure would love to take a shower without a bag on my arm.

I was sure things were looking up- a few days ago, my wrist was feeling great.  I thought that it couldn't feel this good unless it was healed.  I started thinking that maybe, JUST MAYBE, my next set of x-rays would say I was fixed!  Then last night, I tried to pick up my dinner plate, and I felt a shooting pain through my arm.  Ouch. ouch ouch ouch.  I think that means I'm still injured. 

Countdown to tentative cast removal: 37 days down, 47 to go.  Almost halfway.

The Gimp Travels

I went to Vegas this weekend for a much needed "vacation".  Vacation is in quotations because it involved no relaxing at all, and I now need another one recover.  Anyhow, it was tons of fun, so the recovery is worth it.

Part one of the cast adventure started at the airport.  I'm usually extremely discombobulated when it comes to airport security.  I always forget to take my laptop out or put something in a plastic bag or get undressed completely, so I dread this part of traveling.  Well, Friday, I was prepared and in an extremely good mood.  So I wore slip-on shoes, no belt, and made sure all my liquids were LESS than 3 ounces.  My ID was easily accessible in my back pocket, and both my bags fit in the x-ray machine.  Yes, I have been rejected from security before because my bag wouldn't fit...it's embarrassing.  Needless to say, my stupid broken wrist was the last thing on my mind.

Leave it up to airport security to make sure I didn't forget that I am handicapped.  After walking through the metal detector, they pulled me aside.  I figured they would examine my cast, see that it was signed by a bunch of 15 year olds (and one 35 year old), and let me be on my merry way.  Nope.  First they swabbed by whole arm with those round white pieces of paper that are supposed to detect bomb residue.  I don't believe they do anything at all in the first place, but I went with it.  No big deal.  I was now going to be released, right?  Wrong again.  They then brought me into the back of security in a private room.  Visions of a cavity search instantly flashed before my eyes.  I nervously said, "Wow, you guys really don't like people with broken limbs, huh?"  The woman just blankly looked back at me and said "Well, MA'M, people from other countries try to smuggle weapons in their casts, so we take it very seriously. Just be happy you aren't in a full body cast."  Oops.  Shouldn't have said that.  But thanks for putting my injury into perspective, TSA lady. I remember the shoe bomber dude, but I don't recall anyone ever smuggling weapons on a plane with a cast...whatever.  Luckily, there was no cavity search.  She did, however, do 3 full x-rays of my arm and examined them all very closely.  I was tempted to ask her for a copy of them to take to my next doctor's appointment.  I've decided I will just buy a cheap flight every 3 weeks for the next few months and get my x-rays done that way.  It's probably cheaper than the ones at the doctor's office.

So I made it through security in one piece.  I will vow that from now on, I will not complain about taking the bobby pins out of my hair before I enter security.  It could always be worse.  I just can't wait until I get to do this at the Memphis Airport next week-those idiots are the WORST.

I am not a slot machine person.  My grandmother taught me well- slot machines will just suck away your money.  I do, however, love the tables (another lesson from Granny).  Dealers are generally great, friendly people, but every SINGLE dealer asked about my cast.  I guess it's a natural question to ask when making conversation, but it did get annoying.  Give it a rest, people.  One dealer (her name was Linda, and she looked like she has dyed her hair and smoked for the last 250 years) said "What do you wear that for?"  I was confused.  What do people in casts usually wear a cast for?  I thought that was common knowledge...so I responded "Oh, this is part of my outfit.  It's all the rage these days."  Then she took my money.  She tried to make it seem like it was the fault of the cards, but I think she was trying to get back at me for being a smart ass again.  I'm starting to understand why someone signed my cast "pompa inteligente" (Spanish for "smart ass")

Lady at the Harrah's cash out area: "What'd you do?  Punch a boy in the face?"
Me: "Actually, yes."
Lady: "Good job girl!"
She instantly became my favorite person, because no one else has believed that story.

Countdown to tentative cast removal: 34 days down.  50 to go.

A random thought

The skin on my fingers is literally disintegrating.  Especially on my index finger and thumb.  I mean, what is that?  It looks like I got into a fight with a piece of sandpaper.  I wash my fingers and put lotion on them everyday.  Is it the fact that they never get any water exposure in the shower?  I don't understand.  If someone has an explanation, please share.

In cast related news, I broke down and let all the girls on my volleyball team sign my cast...as if this thing didn't already draw enough attention to itself.  Wow.  I didn't realize teenagers got that excited over signing a cast.  But oh, they did.  Every INCH of my cast is covered in illegible red sharpie.  Seriously- you can't even read it.  What fun is it if you can't even read what they wrote?  I also have both a drawing of a little person and a loaf of bread on my arm now.  Needless to say, I feel extremely mature...






Countdown to tentative cast removal: 26 days down, about 58 to go...I think.

New cast. New color.

I saw my arm yesterday.  Yep, it's still there.  And it was scary looking.  If that's how it looks after 3 weeks, I can't imagine how it will look after 6!  Seriously, I have pretty small wrists to begin with, but my right wrist is now the size of an 8 year old child's.  Oh, my tan line was super awesome too.  Brown fingers, white hand.  Michael Jackson would be proud.

I also learned how they take off a cast.  When the nurse brought in the machine, she must have noticed the terrified look on my face, because she said "The doctor has decided that your fracture is pretty bad and it would be best to just amputate your hand. [smile] Just kidding."  The machine is a small version of a table saw and looks pretty intimidating.  But yes, as we've moved out of the 18th century and into the 21st, they make sure it doesn't saw off your arm, or touch your skin at all for that matter.  It was actually kinda cool.


As I promised myself, I confronted my doctor about the actual time line on this thing.  Well, I kind of confronted him.  After hearing 2 horror stories, I went in to my appointment armed with evidence that proves he had lied to me about the 12 weeks thing.  I was almost sure he was going to cave.  Well, since he's the doctor, he got to talk first.  He said my x-rays look good, and that I can probably get a removable cast in another 3 weeks.  Hoooorrah.  Wasn't expecting that at all.  So when I mentioned that I heard I could possibly be in a cast until the 2nd coming of Christ, he simply responded "What? No."  That's what I get for trying to challenge a freaking Harvard Medical School grad.  I must say though, that this man has got to be one of the most socially awkward people I have ever met.  Or maybe he's just afraid of me- the first time I met him, I burst into tears about how my summer was ruined and my life was essentially over.  Ok, so I might have been a little melodramatic, but he was still really awkward about the whole situation.  I'm sure he sees people cry all the time. 

Downside to the new cast- my thumb sticks out awkwardly now and can now BARELY touch my index finger.  I didn't think this was possible, but my handwriting just got even worse.  Oh, and they didn't have one color even close to tan.  First, I chose this off-white beige color.  The nurse responded with "Sorry honey, we're all out of glow-in-the-dark."  Wow, didn't realize it was glow-in-the-dark, but it would have been pretty funny if I did actually get that one.  My second choice was the plain white.  Well, it's kind of white.  It's a yellow-ish white, but once the nurse finished putting it on, I instantly decided white might have been a bad decision.  It will more than likely be light brown at the end of all this. 

Countdown to tentative cast removal: 21 days down, not sure how many to go...

3 weeks in...almost

I'm considering installing wheels on my laundry basket.  Cause carrying it with my one left arm just isn't gonna work.  I expected this, but I already put off doing laundry for 3 weeks so I was in dire need of clean clothes.  I successfully dragged the basket to the elevator.  When the elevator hit the laundry floor, the bottom of the elevator didn't match up with the floor, so you had to take a small step up to get out.  Well naturally, I didn't notice.  So when I tried to drag the basket out of the elevator, it got stuck and tipped over. No, it didn't completely tip over, but it fell enough to where some underwear totally fell off the top.  And yes, there was a semi-attractive guy standing right there.  Awkward.  So, super, awkward.  Good thing he was only semi-attractive.  And he was wearing jorts, so he instantly lost any cool points.  Regardless, it was embarrassing.

Since most people I encounter (even the cashiers at Safeway) ask what happened to me, I'm trying to get creative with my explanations of what happened.   The only thing I have been able to come up with is that I got into a fight with some girl at the bar.  A few people have believed me, but it turns out that I'm not the liar I used to be in high school.  Not that I lied to my friends in high school or made stuff up...I just lied to the 'rents a lot.  Don't worry- I'm sure they now by now that I didn't actually go see a movie every single night of every single weekend in high school.  If either of them says this is news, they are lying.  Anyhow, why don't people believe that I got into a cat fight?  I mean, I did learn a few things at White Station that would be useful in that situation.  Whenever you saw a chunk of weave on the hallway floor, you knew something interesting recently went down.

I heard yet another story from my friend who broke his scaphoid several years ago.  He was only in a cast for 7 months, as opposed to the last guy who said 9 months.  Hey, with that time line, I would be out of this thing before 2011 rolls around. Sweet.  Things sure are lookin' up.

Countdown to tentative cast removal: 19 days down, 65 days to go.

Over 1/6 of the way through

Dear Favorite white button-down sweater,

See you next winter.  Your sleeves are too fitted to accommodate my new limb.

Until we meet again,
Julia

1/6 of the time actually went by pretty quickly.  I'll be 1/4 done in no time...hopefully.  Now I'm super worried though.  I talked to someone the other night who broke his scaphoid bone exactly like I did. He said QUOTE "I'm not even going to tell you how long my recovery was."  I eventually made him tell me. 9 months.  9 freaking months in a cast, and THEN surgery.  I mean, what?!  I understand that everyone recovers differently, but what bone takes 9 months to heal?  No, we aren't iguanas, so I wouldn't expect my finger to just grow back if it got cut off...but I thought 6 weeks was a pretty standard recovery time for broken bones. Apparently, I was beyond mistaken.


I'm taking votes on what color my next cast should be.  Feel free to make suggestions anytime between now and next Tuesday.  Options include: Hot pink, neon orange, neon yellow, purple, blue, black, green (i think) and maybe a nude color.  Keep in mind that this cast will be in a wedding and in wedding photos, so the neon colors might be out of the question.  Katie might break my other arm if I showed up in hot pink to walk down the aisle.

"Oh look, you're broken!"
~Random girl I met and shook hands with at Happy Hour yesterday.


Countdown to tentative cast removal: 16 days down, 68 to go.

You have GOT to be kidding me.  Apparently the bag I put over my arm to shower this morning had a freaking hole in it.  The bottom half of my arm is really damp and won't dry.  I even tried the hairdryer, to no avail.  Ah, and it's starting to itch.  This whole thing is starting to not be funny anymore.  Get this stupid thing off of me!

That's all I have for today's post.  I have been complaining too much already today, that I think my head might explode if I started whining some more.

Countdown to tentative cast removal: 14 days down, 70 to go.  I made it to 2 weeks, people.  This is a monumental day.

Food and bev

Well it snowed again, and my little fingers are freezing!  Did I say this was gonna happen or did I say this was gonna happen?  Geez, Colorado.  Get it together.  Apparently no one told Hippie Mother Nature in Colorado that April is considered Springtime.  Anyways, my fingers are cold.  And I don't appreciate it.

A few weekend situations...

I worked in a sushi bar for 3 years.  Mastering the use of chopsticks is a skill I am pretty proud of.  Seriously- I could probably eat jello with chopsticks if I wanted to.  And I get extremely annoyed with people who stab fresh, raw, delicious tuna with a metal fork. At least TRY to use those wooden sticks that are so foreign looking.  So anyway, I tried to use chopsticks with the cast, but my index finger and thumb don't exactly touch, so it was a challenge.  Attempt #2 was to use the left hand.  Aw, man.  Asking for a fork was just another blow to my pride.  Anyone who knows me well knows that I usually refuse help from anyone...ever.  So asking for a fork was more difficult for me than you would think.  I wanted to preface the request with "I'm not an idiot!  I really CAN use chopsticks!  I'm just a cripple right now!"  But I didn't, because that's just silly and would have made me look pretty insecure.  I did hold up my right arm in explanation though.  That seems to be the easiest way to explain myself these days.

Not to repeat myself, but I worked in a sushi bar for 3 years, and waited tables/bartended for a total of about 7 years.  Pouring beer is another thing that I have mastered.  It's pretty satisfying really, pouring a draft beer with the perfect inch of foam is something not all people can do.  Well, I won't be doing it anytime in the near future.  Try it with your non-dominant hand, and all bets are off.  I successfully had more foam than beer, damn it.  And my 21 year old intern had a field day making fun of me about it.  Apparently, everyone is starting to feel comfortable enough with my cast, that they just make fun of it now.  I guess it's to be expected.  After all, I'm usually the first person laughing whenever someone gets hurt.  I know it's mean, but I really can't help it.

Countdown to tentative cast removal: 13 days down, 71 to go.

It's not you I'm worried about, it's the other drivers on the road...

Shaking hands has become awkward.  Not that I shake very many people's hands, but there is at least one person who comes into my office every day that I shake hands with.  It's a natural thing to shake with your right hand.  Well, at first I just awkwardly shook hands with my left hand, pointed to my right in explanation, and ended up having to explain the injury to every single person.  Well I quit.  Now I have just been extending my cast.  It's hilarious.  I would have expected the majority of people to say 'Oh, wow, what happened?' or at least say 'Aw man, that's a bummer' and get on with whatever we are meeting about.  It's not that I'm looking for sympathy, but it's normal to point out that my arm is messed up.  They don't!  I would say 9 out of 10 people I have shaken hands with in the last week have pretended to not notice.  I mean, really?  Even if you aren't looking at my arm, you don't notice the fact that my hand feels like an alligators elbow?  Of course they notice.  But it's really funny to see them try and act like there's nothing abnormal about it.  I almost feel like a handicapped person- people always notice but always try to pretend like they don't, for fear of feeling more uncomfortable than they already do.

I held my last volleyball practice of the season as a coach last night.  For the past 2 weeks, I have been tossing and hitting balls at the girls on my team with my left arm.  My left shoulder/arm hasn't seen this much action since...ever.  I feel like it is literally going to fall off.  And the girls always seem to forget that I am a gimp.  They throw balls back at me as if I can catch them.  I lost my voice screaming at them about it last night.  And I'm pretty sure I almost made one girl cry.  But c'mon ladies, we have been through this 100 times- don't THROW the balls back to me!  Can you not see that I can't catch them!?  I think this whole coaching experience has just reinforced my fear of ever becoming a parent.






Countdown to tentative cast removal: 9 days down; 75 to go.

One week anniversary

I survived the first week!  I think I'll buy a fancy plastic arm cover for the shower as my anniversary gift to my cast.  My sister was kind enough to post a link for any and all cast accessories imaginable, so I know exactly where to get one. I'm pretty sure she was making fun of me, but I'm taking it very seriously.

So I went dancing on both Friday and Saturday this weekend.  I certainly drew enough attention to myself on Saturday.  Not because I was dancing any certain way or being obnoxious or starting fights between guidos...but because I have blue fiberglass covering my entire forearm.  I think I might have hit a few people in the face.  In fact, I know I did.  This would not normally be a big deal, since the club is always crowded and everyone gets pushed around somewhat.  But getting hit in the face with a cast probably wasn't on the night's agenda for that chic with the perma-tease hair and stilettos.  Or wait...was that a guy?  Regardless, I hope I didn't leave a bruise.

On to yesterday's joys...

Peeling an orange was one of those things that I expected to be difficult.  But I never dreamed that I would somehow end up with that white stuff (the stuff between the peel and the fruit) covering the liner to my cast.  At least I smell citrus-y.  Maybe people will think I did it on purpose.  Speaking of smells, washing my hands isn't the most difficult thing to do, but it's sort of a pain sometimes.  I've started carrying an industrial size bottle of hand sanitizer with me everywhere.  I officially smell like rubbing alcohol ALL THE TIME.  Maybe I'll patent it as a fragrance.  Move over Paris, my Rubbin' Alcohol Delight is coming to a WalMart near you.

Anyhow, after zesting the orange with my cast, I decided I would go on a run.  This was the first real exercise I had done since they put this thing on me, so it was about time.  It wasn't any more difficult than it usually is.  The motion didn't hurt my wrist, and I couldn't even tell that my arm was any heavier than usual.  Afterward, however, came the fun part.  My arm was like a freakin' sauna.  Literally.  This thing can hold some serious heat and some really serious moisture.   And how do you air it out?  Oh, I discovered a fantastic solution.  You know how most hair dryers have a button to blow cold air?  I always wondered who would dry their hair with cold air...well...the hair dryer companies are looking out for us gimps.  It worked like a charm!  Thanks Conair, you made my day.

Countdown to tentative cast removal: 7 1/2 days down, 76 1/2 to go.

And the complaints continue...

I've finally decided to share my showering predicament. Many of you who have broken limbs before can probably relate. WHY ON EARTH HASN'T ANYONE CREATED A WATERPROOF CAST? You mean to tell me that there is a satellite in space that can circle the earth in a day and withstand 20,000 degrees of heat, and they can't come up with a waterproof piece of fiberglass? I know, I have heard rumors that these things exist, but I was never given the option of one. I know that I'm new to the whole broken wrists/cast world, but don't keep these things a secret!

Hey, I would even settle for some piece of plastic that fits snug on my arm (designed specifically to fit the cast), so that at least my fingers are exposed. Again, my left hand just doesn't get my hair clean. This takes me back to my freshman year in college when my roommate and I decided we would dread our hair. So cool. Really, we were cool. So, I didn't wash my hair for about 5 weeks. The attempt ended after a 3 week trip to Africa, when I decided that I would probably bring back an awful case of head lice if I didn't wash it at the end of the trip. Since using a plastic nub to assist my left hand does absolutely NOTHING, I might as well work on my dreadlocks again for the next few months.

Ah, eating.  I was eating a crepe this weekend.  A crepe- not something you would imagine is difficult to cut apart, right? Au contrare, my friends.  Au contrare.  My plastic fork certainly wouldn't cut it, and I was too chicken to attempt using a knife with my left hand.  I managed to literally PULL pieces apart with the fork and knife.  I was instantly heartbroken, realizing that steak was probably out of the question for a while.  And I have too much pride to let someone else cut it for me.  Actually, I take that back- the only person I will allow to cut up my steak for me is my Dad, and he lives 18 hours away.  Anyhow, something amazing happened yesterday.  While trying to slice a tomato, I discovered that wedging the knife handle into my cast and using 2 fingers to hold it in place actually works wonders.  I can eat solid food again- what a magnificent discovery. 

Ew, gross.  I was just kidding about the dreadlocks thing.  I at least won't do that on purpose.

Countdown to tentative cast removal: 6 days down, 78 to go.

AM/PM adventures

I've sort of accepted that my hope to take up tennis this summer will be postponed, if it even happens at all. In the name of finding a plan B, I have decided to take up hacky sack. It's perfect- you are actually NOT allowed to use your hands. It will be just like 6th grade again. Why not soccer, you say? Shinguards. Who wants to play a sport where people are always kicking you in the shins? Not me.

I love sleeping. Really, it's probably one of my favorite pastimes. Crawling in bed after a long day is so unbelievably satisfying. Well it has officially become a chore to sleep. I play eeni-meeni-miny-mo every night to decide which position to try next. So far...Sleeping on my left side- this cast is kind of heavy. Therefore, when I sleep on my left side, my right arm is weighing down the entire right side of my body. I wouldn't exactly call that comfortable. When I sleep on my back, I have to elevate this thing. For some reason, elevating the arm has caused a rather obnoxious pain underneath my right shoulderblade. Not only does the pain wake me up, but it has become a 24 hour annoyance. Do you think my insurance would cover getting a few massages since my back issues are due to a medical issue? When I sleep on my stomach...this is my favorite one. I've managed to fall asleep several times on my stomach with my arms folded underneath my pillow/head. Well, somehow the pillow always gets pushed out of the way, so I basically end up using the cast as a pillow. This is rather painful. No, not for my arm, but for my FACE. I literally have to peel my face off of my cast. And THEN, there is a nice squiggly criss-cross design imprinted on my left cheek. I'm lucky if it fades by the time I get to work.

Getting dressed in the morning has also become a real treat. When I was getting the cast on, the nurse said in a very casual way..."Well at least you can still wear all your clothes. Except tight fitted long sleeve shirts- that might be difficult." Ok, how many females in their mid-20's own a long sleeve shirt that ISN'T fitted? The last time I checked, this isn't 1975- bell bottom shirts have come and gone. And jackets?! The liner in my nice black pea-coat is already all ripped up from forcing the sharp fiberglass through the armhole. Thanks for trying to be positive though, Nurse Optimistic.

Countdown to cast removal: 5 days down, 79 to go.

Good news on Day #3!

Good news! My knuckles have officially reappeared. I was worried they were gone forever and that my fat kid sausage fingers would become a permanent side effect of this whole ordeal. Nope. They're back in action, people.

Last night's adventures were fairly minor, but still pretty annoying...

A few days ago, pre-fiberglass arm (when I was wearing a splint but still couldn't exactly move my wrist), I decided to do some laundry. I know it was bad timing, but I was completely out of underwear and getting desperate. After managing to haul it down to the laundry room with my left hand and left LEG (and having Anne Lee haul it back up), I was too frustrated to fold it. So, it has been in a pile on my bedroom floor, staring at me for about 3 days now. Yes, I have been digging through a thrift store style pile of clothes for 3 days. And no, I don't iron my clothes, so I've been going to work looking like a wrinkled hobo. Don't judge. Well, last night I attempted to fold the endless pile. My mother would be ashamed. I should have just stuffed them in my drawers, cause you can't tell the difference between wadded up and my poor, one handed excuse for folding. It was the first time in my life I actually WANTED to match the socks (it's way easier than folding t-shirts).

First time eating out since the cast:

Server: M'am, are you having anything to eat tonight?
Me: Sure- what's good?
Server:I really love our Ceasar salad with shrimp.
Me: Sounds great. I'll have that.

Here's my question- why do restaurants feel the need to serve shrimp with the tails on? Is it a laziness issue? No one eats them, there's never anywhere to put them, and they're difficult to pull off- especially with one hand. I tried to pull the tails off, but I couldn't seem to get a good enough grip to get the meat out of them. This was just unacceptable- getting all the meat out of the tail is one of those accomplishments that no one ever brags about, but we all get sort of excited about. I ate about 3 of them before I gave up. Thanks for the awful recommendation, lady. I should have known she was a wacko from the beginning- she tried to claim to be Southern because she was from Texas...

Moving on to today...

As I mentioned yesterday, the weather in Colorado often changes dramatically, very quickly. For example, yesterday was about 75 degrees and beautiful- today the high was about 50. I'm still not used to it. Anyhow, as I was walking from my parking lot to my office this morning, my hands were a little cold. It got me thinking- what if it snows here again before summer actually starts? Do they make gloves for people with a hand the size of small bowling ball? I gonna go ahead and say it's doubtful. The doctor sure didn't warn me of the frostbite risks involved with this cast. Wouldn't that just be peachy? Frostbitten, purple fingers sticking out of a bright blue cast. I could dye my hair red and be one step closer to looking like an actual rainbow.

Countdown to tentative cast removal: 2 1/2 days down, 81 to go

Day #2

Ah, it has finally warmed up here in Colorado. It's 70 degrees (even though the temp could drop to 30 within a matter of hours), the sun is shining, the birds are chirping and the volleyball nets are set up in the park. WaterWorld (largest water park in the US) is opening soon, as is the pool at my apartment building. And for me, most of this summer is going to be pretty awful.

So...in case you don't know already (aka you are one of those people who randomly stalks the blogs of people you don't know or you just haven't heard me cry about it yet)...I broke my wrist in a skiing accident on Saturday. I was in the half pipe doing a reverse flip side 1080 with a tailgrab (trying to copy the trick my friend Stacy had just landed), when I landed wrong and fell. I know, I'm pretty cool. Please don't be jealous. I also finished the run with a broken wrist- I would say that's pretty hard core too.

Anyways, I am writing this blog in an attempt to get out my frustrations without verbally complaining to all my friends and family ALL the time. I still might whine to them a little, but I'm hoping that getting it out on paper will decrease my need to complain- and hopefully make you smile. If you feel that I am too negative or shouldn't be whining about anything and everything- please, quit reading.

So, I went to the hand doctor yesterday expecting him to put me in a cast for about 6-8 weeks. Nope. I was oh-so wrong. 12 weeks. That's equivalent to 3 months, or 84 days. Also equivalent to 1/4 of a year. Also equivalent to my entire summer almost. Like I said, this blog is designed specifically for me to complain.

Despite the fact that this post is titled "Day #2", this is actually my first full day with one arm. Oh yeah, I broke my right wrist and I'm right handed...feel any more sorry for me? No? Well you should. To all you people who say things like- "You'll be fine. Can't you just do everything with your left hand?" - seriously? Try tying your right hand (or your left hand for you weirdo lefties) behind your back and doing everything with your left hand (or right hand for the weirdo lefties). It doesn't work! I'll even give you an easy one- brush your teeth tonight with your left hand (or right hand for you weirdo lefties). I bet it takes twice the time and your teeth don't get nearly as clean. And if for some reason, you have no problem using your non-dominant hand- please don't tell me. I don't want to hear about how you are ambidextrous. My teeth are gonna need a serious cleaning when these 12 weeks are up.

Also, as of today, I promise that anytime I encounter someone with an injury, I will not tell them "well, it could always be worse." That is just not what an injured person wants to hear. Yes, I know I could have broken my leg (in which my recovery time would actually be faster), I could have died, I could have been born autistic or I could have even been born blind. Yes, I know. My situation could always be worse. But really, do you have to make me feel so bad about feeling sorry for myself for a few days? I know I should be thanking my lucky stars that I wasn't born with 14 fingers and 14 toes, but right now, I would like to dwell on my injury.

Let's start with my first morning in this wonderful cast. I will save the getting dressed and showering complaints for another post.

I went to Starbucks this morning to get my "Free tax day coffee." Easy enough, right? Well, when I went to pour skim milk into my really hot coffee, the skim pitcher was of course empty. So, I put my portable coffee mug (which DOES have a lid) under my right arm and grabbed the pitcher with my left to get refilled. No big deal, right? Wrong. Coffee mugs aren't meant to be carried by an armpit. Right now, I have an enormous brown stain covering my entire right boob. And yes, I tried to wipe it off, but again, cleaning stuff up with my left hand just doesn't work well. Also, I haven't checked yet, but I'm pretty sure I have a 2nd degree burn on my right pectoral and armpit. Maybe I could sue Starbucks.

In other news, my head has been hurting since this morning and I just noticed a medium sized bruise on my forehead. I haven't run into any walls or gotten punched recently...so the only explanation I can come up with is that I hit myself in the head with my cast while I was sleeping. Seriously? How did I not wake up? I know breaking my wrist was stupid, but I really didn't think I would unconsciously abuse myself over it.

What color is my cast you ask? All I have to say is -GO TIGERS.

Please stay tuned for more adventures of Julia and her cast. They should prove to be pretty entertaining.

Countdown to tentative cast removal: 1 1/2 days down, 82 to go.