Wrist breakage anniversary

WARNING: ICKY PHOTOS THAT PEOPLE MAY NOT LIKE IN THIS POST.

Two years ago today I broke my wrist. It was a Monday morning, and I had just started a new job the Tuesday before, so I set out nice and early, totally excited about going to work – it was (at the time) the job of my dreams. I went outside, stepped on a piece of concrete, tripped over it and fell. Onto my wrist. At first I didn’t feel anything, didn’t realise I had done anything. I remember sitting back on my heels and feeling my hand droop and when I looked at it, the whole wrist just looked wrong. That was when I started screaming. And the screaming didn’t stop for a while, because that was when the pain set in.

Me in the hospital with my stuffed wrist
Me in the hospital with my stuffed wrist
All wrapped up
All wrapped up
My black knuckles from the fall
My black knuckles from the fall

I had a really long post written out about that day. About how I had to have surgery and I now have a plate in my wrist, about how I have permanent scarring on my wrist where they had to put the plate in, about how the recovery was at times almost as painful as the break itself. I wrote about how I got pneumonia a week after after my wrist broke and ended back up in hospital, but the whole post sounded so whingey. So I scrapped it and just condensed it to this.

My wrist when the cast first came off. YUCK.
My wrist when the cast first came off. YUCK.
X-Ray of the plate in my wrist
X-Ray of the plate in my wrist
Blinged the scar up at Christmas
Blinged the scar up at Christmas

What I really want to say is this. My wrist, in the scheme of things is not a major injury. It’s certainly not as bad as some of the terrible things that happen to people – good people, but to me this was the worst thing that had ever happened. It still continues to give me pain and grief on a daily basis and there are still things that I can’t do. Never take yourself for granted. Do everything that you want to do, today, because you never know when the choice might be taken away from you. I spent nearly two years getting back to being able to cut material out again, and to hold a pair of scissors and cut again, and I still can’t really cut a straight line.


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