Wednesdays are when our traveling team practices. We were getting ready to play the team from Boulder County, CO. Cookie had some really awesome toe stop drills that we did, then we did some hitting drills that I was really awful at, which made me really frustrated. The only thing I'm really even a little decent at is hitting, so if I can't do that, what in the world do I think I'm doing on the travel team? Then I remembered that I'm supposed to stop being frustrated at myself all the time and just enjoy playing, so I tried to let it go, and we started to scrimmage. The scrimmage went about as well as it usually did. We had a couple of new people on the travel team, and they were going to play with Portneuf that Saturday while we were playing against Boulder County. They were most likely going to jam a little during their game, so we let them practice rotating through as jammers. Bizee was jamming, and as we got to turn 2, three of BABS' blockers were on the inside, Bizee was coming right around the corner, so I went in the try to clear as many of them to the inside as I could so that Bizee could get through as easily as possible. As I started to reset from the hit, I saw Bizee pass, but something was different. I was standing too high, my weight was too far on my back wheels. I could feel myself starting to fall, and I looked down at my ankle. I roll my ankle all the time, so I was hoping that's all that was happening. As I fell, though, instead of my ankle rolling and being able to limp a little and then be fine, I watched as my leg snapped and then crumpled beneath me. "Oh, crap" I said (ok, ok, I didn't say crap. Sorry about it.) I fell the rest of the way to the ground, and my foot was dangling oddly off to the side of my leg, with the outside of my foot touching the outside of my leg. "Oh, crap." I said it again. (I always kind of hoped that I would say "Oh, garbage" if I got hurt, like my grandpa did when he caught his face on fire, but in that moment where I watched my leg break underneath me, that's just not what came out of my mouth.) I grabbed my skate, put my foot back where it should've been at the bottom of my leg instead of to the side of it, then I lied back, closed my eyes, and grabbed Jer's hands. I couldn't believe it. How could I have broken my leg so close to so many games that I so desperately wanted to play in? What was I supposed to do about Rollercon? I didn't want to start crying, so I made myself stop thinking about things like that and started talking to my teammates. I asked them to take pictures of my leg (because if you're gonna break something, you better get some good pictures of it). I asked Molly to make sure she told work that I wouldn't be there in the morning, but that I'd be back on Friday (and at the time, I honestly believed I would be). I made Cookie practice her calm voice so that when Molly got back from the couches with my phone, Cookie would be able to talk to my family without making them panic. I don't remember what else we all talked about, but I remember being really funny. At least, I thought I was funny. I was incredibly lucky that my teammates O and Carly were there, since they're medically trained and were actually able to splint my leg and take off my skate without me even feeling it. Cookie laid down the seats in the back of her car, and the refs and some teammates carried me out and helped me get in. Gambit drove me to the hospital, with O in the front and Cookie in the back with me holding my knee so that my leg wouldn't jostle. As we drove toward the hospital, I noticed that the minivan was still on the side of the rode. The firemen were still hard at work trying to take care of whoever was inside. I remembered that things could be a lot worse.
The ER was pretty busy, and I was kind of a fool and told them my pain was probably a 6/10. I mean, I've never had to rate my pain on a scale before, and I figured if I broke my femur (which is my biggest fear), it would've been way worse, so a 6 seemed reasonable. I was supposed to meet up with the Bells, because I hadn't seen them forever and wanted to before they left for Europe, so I had to call and cancel. O held my leg on her lap the whole time we were waiting, and a bit after we got there my family showed up. Brother had even won a bear for me at Trafalga. The ER staff was awesome. They humored me by laughing at my jokes, they gave me lots and lots of morphine, and they were just all around outstanding humans. My cardboard make-shift splint ended up being a lifesaver. I don't think I'll ever forget the feeling of my bones shifting and grinding against each other inside of my leg, and I can't even imagine what that would've felt like without a splint. Some of the team came by after practice. It seems like we spend way too much time in emergency rooms. I thought I'd be able to just get a cast thrown on and be sent home, but it turns out I did a real number on this old leg of mine. I finally got to a room around 2 or 3 AM. Cookie and the sibs stayed until then, those wonderful people, and then it was just me and Mom in the hospital room, counting down the hours until I could have surge to get a rod shoved through my tibia. My oxygen levels would get too low when I started to fall asleep, so every time I was even close to sleeping, the alarms started beeping. I got so sick of it that I started telling my mom all about my job - how I file things, how my desk is organized, the layout of the entire office, where everyone's desks are, what everyone does - I'm positive it was the most interesting conversation she's ever been a participant in. I got to go down to the OR around 10:30 the next day, had some metal put into my bone, and now I'm bionic.
It's been a pretty crazy 7 weeks since then. They couldn't get my pain down most of the time I was in the hospital, and my surgeon went to New York right after he performed my surgery, so my poor nurses couldn't get more pain meds approved and they had to hear me complain at them for 4 days. A foot specialist finally figured out that I had a nerve being pushed into one of my screws, so he prescribed some nerve medication, and then I was released and went home to my parents'. My family has taken excellent care of me. Becca even gave me a bell to ring while I was housed on the couch in case I needed anything. Cookie has been amazing and comes and gets me whenever I feel too stir crazy, which is probably way more often than she has time for. Jer called me every day for probably 3 weeks to make sure I didn't need anything, and any time I did, he brought it right over. My teammates have been really cool about letting me bum around practice every week and letting me pretend like I'm helpful. I'm so grateful for everyone's help. I can't imagine what it would've been like without so many people around to hang out with me and help me. It's been the most frustrating thing of my life, and I try my best not to get too discouraged and depressed, but as a natural pessimist, I must admit that I haven't done very well. I hate not being able to drive. I hate not being independent. I hate being so far away from everyone in my league and not being able to be there every day. I hate being so exhausted all of the time.
But when I'm feeling the worst, I always know that it will end soon enough. I remember how many awesome friends I have, and what an amazing family I have. I remember about the people in that minivan, and I remind myself that at least that wasn't me, and at least I didn't break my femur.
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