Surgery,

Yup. Surgery. On my elbow. Here is my story...

Sunday, my little sister drove back from Phoenix with my older sister and myself to stay at UofA during her Fall Break (oh, how I wish we had one). Sunday night, she stayed at my sister's apartment, and then on Monday, Katie's roommate drove her to campus. Monday night, I took Nicole to Ballroom with me (we were doing Rumba--one of my favorites!), and afterward, we walked back and were hanging out with the guys outside. I still had my heels on, and I was going to go change them, but I felt that I needed to call Sarika. Turns out she really needed a friend. So I leave my sister in my dorm room, fly down the stairs, and head toward toward PSP. Stupid me, I take the corner out of VDP too quickly and totally biff it and fall right on my elbow. It all happened so fast: one minute I was hurrying to Sarika's dorm, the next minute I am lying flat on the pavement in immense pain. I sort of blacked out a little, and I just laid there for a couple minutes. The sad thing is, there was a whole bunch of people sitting around and they all saw me fall and didn't do anything or say anything (including--I found this out later--one of the guys down the hall, who knows me and didn't even say anything. Then again, he's a total jerk, so I should've known better). I stagger to my feet, and I can barely walk, but I manage to get to Sarika's dorm. When I get there, she got me some ice and we talked for a while, then she decided we needed to get me back to my dorm. We get to my dorm, and luckily we run into one of the guys down the hall, Andrew. I told him what happened, and he concluded that it wasn't dislocated because I could move my fingers. He thought I needed to see a doctor, so he looked up when Campus Health was open (it closed at 4:30, and by this time, it was about midnight), but he found an emergency line I could call. I called (I was on hold FOREVER) and spoke to the doctor on call. I told him my problem, and he said (crankily), "Uhh...I can't really diagnose you over the phone, so if you can go to sleep, sleep and then go to Campus Health in the morning. But if you can't sleep...go to the emergency room tonight." Idiot. Andrew said he was willing to take me to the emergency room, but I didn't want to make him do that. He took me in his room, wrapped an athlete ice pack (he probably got it from lacrosse) around my elbow, and said goodnight. I went back to my room, took some Ibprofen, and went to bed. I slept on and off.

Tuesday, I woke up and I was in so much pain and I couldn't even move my arm. I decided to skip sign language and go to Campus Health instead. I was in the waiting room for a very long time, and once again, I made friends with the receptionists. I finally met with a nurse practitioner named Lisette who was older, sweet, and surprisingly really knowledgeable. I told her what happened and proceeded to tell her what I thought the problem was and how I thought it could be fixed (I have learned that with Campus Health, you just have to spell things out for them right at the get-go. If you're nor pregnant or don't have an STD, they just don't know how to treat you...). I tell her that I know it's not dislocated because I can move my fingers, and I don't think it's broken, so it must be like what I previously did to my knee where all of the muscles go into shock and tense up, so you just have to baby it but work at straightening them out. She told me that she was going to take an x-ray anyway, just to be safe. The lady who took my x-ray was heartless, she really was. She pushed, pulled, prodded, and bent my arms in ways that are probably some variation of a colonial torture mechanism. I don't think I have cried that hard in a long time. After my x-rays, Lisette pulled me in to show me the results. "And you thought you didn't need an x-ray..." she says to me. I look at the x-ray, and even a five year old can tell something is wrong there. Your eyes are immediately drawn to a break. It's not just a little line on my bone; it's a thick, BLACK space starting at the top of my bone going straight down to the bottom. Once I look at it, Lisette and the Asian nurse are running around with their heads cut off trying to get the stuff ready to put me in a cast, as if it were a matter of life and death if they didn't put my cast on right away. Huh. Must have been serious. They put me in a Baby Tong splint, which is a splint that goes from the top of my hand, around my elbow, to the palm of my hand and then from my bicep, around my elbow, to my triceps using this material that starts off squishy, then hardens as you have it on. It's really cool! Anyway, Lisette scheduled me with an Orthopedic doctor for the next day so he could better assess how to treat me (basically, Campus Health can only do so much...). Lisette gave me some serious painkillers (heavy duty Vicodin) and told me to not go to class for the rest of the day. So I didn't. :)

Wednesday, my parents drove down to take me to my appointment with the orthopedic doctor. They had to pick up Nicole on Thursday anyway, so they just drove up a day early to get her and to go to my appointment. We went to the doctor's and showed him the x-rays taken at Campus Health. He took one look at them and said, "You need surgery. Not having surgery isn't even an option." I flipped out. Dr. Wild explained that I had broken my ulna all the way through to my elbow joint and that my bone wasn't even connected to my elbow anymore. If my arm were to be simply cast up and have the bones mend themselves together, my arm would be in the bent position and I would have little to no range of motion for the rest of my life. After that, I was like, "Alright. Whatevs." My parents were then in a mad rush to schedule a time for my surgery, get everything figured out with the doctors, and try to see if my surgery would be covered on our insurance. I just sat there quietly and watched my parents basically freak out. It was kind of entertaining. After about two hours, everything was taken care of. My surgery was scheduled for the next day. I was pretty scared to be honest. I made and got a lot of phone calls about my surgery that night. It was nice to know people cared about me. :)

Thursday, I went to the hospital to have my surgery. They dressed me in that fabulously fashionable cloth garb and I sat there and wondered to myself why they even put you in it; it's not like it covers anything. I think they should just have you lay naked on those uncomfortable rolley beds; you would keep the same amount of warmth with or without those itchy pieces of cardboard. Anyway, they put my IV in and kept pumping fluids in like crazy; I took so many freaking trips to the bathroom, it's not even funny. I laid in the prep room for like, 3 hours (I took a nap) before the anesthesiologist came in. I remember closing my eyes for a second and then I woke up and my parents and the nurse were at the foot of my bed. "All finished," the nurse said to me. "With putting the anesthesia in?" I asked. "No, with everything." I look down and there's this hella bulky/heavy cast on my arm and I was like, "Tight." And the next thing I remember is waking up in the hotel room. I ate some dinner and went back to bed. I was incredibly drugged up, you have no idea. Apparently Origene from Rwanda called me on Friday and I just kind of yelled into the phone and went back to bed. I felt so bad. (I emailed him later and told him I was sorry, so don't worry)

I spent the remainder of my weekend at my sister's apartment. She and her roomies took very good care of me. We had Office marathons and Erin made me Dinosaur Pumpkin Toast (which is just toast but cut into the shape of dinosaurs using a cookie cutter and smuthered with pumpkin butter. Basically it's the best thing ever). Sunday night I went back to the dorms. The boys down the hall have taken good care of me. They carry my stuff up the stairs and do other such biddings like opening jars for me or whatever (every night I come into their room to have them open my medicine bottle for me and they all know what is coming so they all just extend their hands to receive the bottle. It cracks me up). Sarika has been an angel through this whole process. Every day, she comes over and undresses me so I can take a shower and the redresses me afterward. It's so embarrassing that I can't even dress myself, but whatever. It's been quite the bonding experience for the both of us, let me tell you. You can't say that you're real friends until a bra's come off, that's for sure. :)

It's been hard living with only one arm. I seriously can't do anything by myself and it takes twice as long to do things. Like this post, for instance. I have been typing a little every day and it's Saturday and I am just now finishing. Oy. But be proud of my accomplishment! Schoolwork takes me forever to do, but thankfully I chose to break my arm at a time when most of my midterms were finished and not that much stuff is going on. Sadly, though, doing the tiniest things exhaust me. I can't clean my room very well, I can't do my dishes in fear my cast will get wet, and I can't do my own laundry (that I don't mind). I can't even open a jar of peanut butter by myself for Heaven's sake. The once-Superwoman now has to ask for help with everything. It's definitely been a lesson in humility, that's for sure. I am in a lot of pain all the time, but the worst part is underneath my splint constantly itches like crazy with no way to scratch it. I stole a wooden s'more skewer from the guys down the hall to itch under my ace bandage wrapped around my arm and we have lovingly named it the Itch-a-Stick. I just have to be careful not to scratch too far down or else I will rip my stitches. And I am kind of getting sick of people asking what I did to my arm, especially people I am just meeting for the first time. I wish I had a cooler story than, "Oh, I just fell and broke my elbow." but I really don't. A guy from my work (his name is Barry and he's 65 and completely adorable!) told me to tell people that I fought a bear single-handedly and that's how I broke my arm. I've adopted that as my story and it's funny to see the expressions on people's faces when I tell them that, either of complete disbelief or of complete amazement. I do like it, though, seeing when people genuinely care about what happened to me and want me to get better. My professors and TAs have been really understanding and very accommodating. I went to Ballroom this week, not to dance, but just to watch, and the advanced students were really worried about me. It's nice to know they actually know how I am and want me to get back on the dance floor. I have an appointment on Monday with the surgeon to see how I am doing and he is going to tell me when I can get my splint/sling off. I hope soon because I am sick of being an incompetent, non-dancing, freak-of-nature anti-Superwoman; I ready to return back to normal.

Thanks to all for all of your prayers and thoughts. Please continue praying for a speedy recovery and for perfect healing. Thank you and love to all!