When Best Laid Plans Go Wrong

While waiting for my name to be called in urgent care, I thought about the last two days. No matter how much you plan, life has its own ideas. And why do they call it urgent care? There never seems to be any urgency at all.

It all started on Monday. Taking my own advice from A Tiny Tale of Terror, I purchased a planner and jotted down to-do lists for the week. It felt satisfying to cross off small steps toward my 2016 goals, but I was up in the air about Wednesday. Our mountain house is in the midst of a remodel and my husband, Danny, planned to drive up to check it out.

Angst formed in my gut. I considered going, but the round-trip drive would take four hours out of my day. “Why are you going?” I asked. “We’re paying a contractor to handle all of this for us.”

He shrugged and said, “You don’t have to go.” Unhindered by my concerns, he drove up. I decided to work at home. The angst in my gut twisted into a tight knot.

After working all morning, the Colorado warm before the storm drew me outside to take down Christmas decorations. It was another chore on my list and forecasters predicted snow to roll in late Thursday.

Angst evaporated in the afternoon sun. I made progress.

As I turned a corner to continue stuffing artificial garlands into a container, I slipped.

My brain went into s l o w  m o t i o n. That has never happened to me before. It’s always in hyperdrive. Talk about a crazy feeling.

One second slowed down to thirty.

THOUGHT PROCESS:

I slipped on the ice!

Oh, no! My feet are above my head. This can’t be good.

I don’t want to land on my bad knee. My one-year follow-up is on Monday.

My left hand is catching my fall, thank God!

Wow. All my weight is on my left hand.

Ha! I didn’t know it could bend that far.

It’s still bending! That can’t be good.

Oh, God. My weight is crushing my poor wrist.

When the rest of my body made a soft landing, thanks to my left hand, I let out a series of f-bombs while laughing at the ridiculousness of my cliché pratfall.

THOUGHT PROCESS CONTINUED:

I didn’t hear a snap, crackle or a pop. I must be okay. Yay!

I stood and picked up the garland with my right hand, but my left hand’s thumb and fingers rebelled at the movement. My heart sank. I wasn’t in a ton of pain, but the bones felt all grindy and pin-prickly like someone slipped a few items from a junk drawer into my wrist. It needed to be yanked so the junk could fall out.

I pulled up the sleeve of my jacket. There was an egg where my wrist bones used to be. My shoulders slumped.

“Crappin’ geez.”

I drove myself to less than Urgent Care.

PROGNOSIS:

No dislocation or fracture, but X-rays showed an interrupted line along my radius indicating crushed bone.

I let out another, “Crappin’ geez.”

THE IRONY:

They mentioned the name of my surgeon and suggested making an appointment to get his opinion. I already have one. I hope my doctor tells me on Monday it’s just a deep bone bruise. Fingers crossed, with my right hand. 

THE BAD NEWS:

I can’t go skiing this weekend. I’ll either stay in an air cast for a while or end up in the dreaded PLASTER CAST. Anything but that!

THE GOOD NEWS:

I can type! Maybe I’ll get ahead on those unruly resolutions.

NOTE TO GUT FILLED WITH ANGST:

Thanks a whole hell of a lot. Why don’t you be a little more specific next time? It would save me a trip to less than Urgent Care.

Update: Yep. It’s broken. I’ll be in an air cast for a while. The good news? No plaster.

Does your gut ever tell you anything other than it’s time for dinner?