Oh My Aching….


Yes, that is a portion of my ample posterior.

Yes, that is my Sexy Sparkly Michael Jackson Stretchy Glove-type thingy.  I wear it under my wrist braces to keep my skin from wearing out.

Let’s see, now.  It’s all getting blurred together.  Thank God for credit card records.  That’s how I know where I was and what I was doing whenever I get injured.

I think the first thing was the wrist (again).  Since the last of the LEFT wrist surgeries was all the way back in 2000, I didn’t even think about the possibility of another one when I tripped over a log in the pitch dark and went ass over teakettle, making a one point landing on my left palm.

I felt the all too familiar sick crunching sensation, followed by excruciating pain.  Thank goodness I was with a friend, who helped me up, which I doubt I could have accomplished by myself, since I was upside down.

“Oh no!” He exclaimed.  “Can I do anything?”  He is a really nice man.

“Yes, help me up!”  At least I think that’s what I said.  He would be better able to tell you, or maybe not, as he was nearly as distressed as I.  He is a really nice man.

After a few volleys of,

“It’s broken.”
“No it’s not, it can’t be broken.”
“Yes it is, it’s broken.”
“No, it can’t possibly be broken.”

Etc, etc.  Look, we’re both Jewish, and we’ve known each other a really long time.  Thousands of years.

After a few of those volleys, he helped me back to my rig–that’s what you call any kind of a camping vehicle type thing–where I trussed my throbbing wrist up, smoked some pot, took a tramadol, which I soon regretted because, you know, the itch thing, did the dishes and went to bed.

In the morning I un-trussed my aching wrist and did a careful exam, gingerly palpating all the little bones and checking range of motion–clunk–there it was.  Not good.  I trussed it back up.

My phone rang.  It was my Hebrew Brother.

“How’s your wrist?”




“Oh, well, how long are you staying?”

Before we hung up I heard him yelling “Goodbye!” from his Jeep outside my window.  Dear soul!

I moved farther North to get out of the blazing desert heat.  Three or four hundred miles and two thousand feet of altitude didn’t seem to make it get any cooler.

But since my destination had electricity and therefore air conditioning in my rig, I decided to make it my base camp for scouting hand surgeons.  I did find one, but he wasn’t going to be in the office for a week.  In the meantime, they told me, I could go another half a day’s drive North, where they had a walk-in orthopedics  clinic.  I opted for that.

In the meantime, I was not just sitting on my ass.

The campground is situated on a completely barren stretch of dessert, devoid of any vegetation save the thorny kinds.  I recall, in my college botany classes, learning that desert plants have to have thorns in order to protect themselves from being eaten.  In that case, why doesn’t everything that grows have thorns?

It’s easy to walk your dog there.  All you have to do is go to the “Designated Green Space”


And there you go.  Actually, there the dog goes.

My dog is VERY friendly, and everyone wants to hear all about her.  You might say she’s a conversation piece.  You might not.  She doesn’t care.

A friendly couple with an aged obese spaniel were admiring her.  While chatting with them, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that she had another admirer: the biggest, sassiest raven I have ever seen.  It strutted up and down, perhaps ten feet from us, uttering little raven-speak cackles and gurgles.

(Did I already write about this, or am I having a deja vu all over again?  Oh well.  A good story bears retelling.)

One moment, I am standing chatting with these nice strangers, and the next, I was hanging, suspended by invisible wires, my body parallel to the ground.  Then somebody cut the wires, just like in the cartoons, and my body obeyed the laws of physics and hit the hard packed sun baked desert with a thud.

That naughty raven got on Atina’s last nerve and it broke, and she bolted out of the gate like a two year old racehorse, forgetting about the me who had a good grip on the other end of the leash.  Before my lightning fast reflexes had a chance to unflex my leash hand, it was too late: the deed was done.  I was horizontal.

When she heard the resounding report of my corpus hitting the desert floor she came running and threw herself down beside me, plastered right up against me, panting desperately.

The shocked couple wanted to know if they could help me up.

“No, thank you, she will brace for me, it’s one of her jobs,” said I, placing my hands on her withers and pushing myself to my feet.  Atina rose to hers and flanked me closely as I hobbled to my rig.  Nothing broken.  Baruch ha’Shem.

You know how when you’ve got a headache, and then you drop a hammer on your foot, you forget about your headache for a while?

Well, first my wrist felt better, and after that my ass felt better.

Then they both started up hurting at once, and I didn’t want to drive anywhere, so I turned the AC on “deep freeze,” smoked the rest of the pot, and read escapist novels for a couple of days.

Eventually I had to (had to) take a shower, and in the course of human events I passed by the mirror and–holy mother of goddess, what in the hell is THAT???

You see that black, green, alien looking lump of dough?  That ain’t half the story.  You should have seen it a few days ago.  I should have snapped a shot then, but I was dizzy and had to go lie down for a while.

And now, just to ice the cake, I’ve been gifted with (drum roll Sheldon) a brand new thrombosed hemorrhoid!  Ain’t that nice!

Today I finally made it to Flagstaff, and called around about a hand surgeon.  I was dreading the inevitable question (which I did get):

“If you hurt your wrist days ago, why did it take you so long to call us?”

How good of you to ass-k….

Leave a comment


  1. oh dear. hope you get to feeling better soon

  2. Oh no, feel better soon! Are you having surgery on your wrist? Oh gosh, just please be careful. Hugs. For you, lots of them.

    • You should talk. You’re the expert on getting clobbered! I have to go to the clinic tomorrow and go through the painfully slow motions that will lead to the golden apple of the MRI machine, even though I know that’s all that stands between me and knowing whether surgery is in my future. Hey, kind of like a huge magnetic loud crystal ball, right? Did I mention loud? And last time, they tried to squish my broken wrist into this “holder” so I would hold still. Oh right! Not on my shift! I’m, like, you people have NO IDEA of my capacity to…just….keep….perfectly…still….And nothing will happen to you. Fuck, yeah.

      Oops, sorry, got off on a tangent. Been having major anxiety attacks, going back and forth about anesthesia (general? Regional? Deep sedation?) instead of sleeping. Shit, I hate this. Waiter, take this plate back to the kitchen, I didn’t order it!!!

      • Thanks for reminding me! Yeah the concussion was great! And I had an MRI! Clunk clunk clunk. Well I hope they do yours quickly, I can imagine it hurts pretty badly. Can’t they just X-ray and find out if it’s broken???! I’ve never been under general anesthesia, scared I might not wake up! Can they do surgery with sedation? Local? Sending you all my good wishes and lots of hugs.

        • That MRI must have been horrible, with a concussion.

          A simple xray can provide some information, but even a normal wrist is difficult to call normal if pain persists afterward, and requires MRI for definitive diagnosis. My wrist is partially fused, and with two surgeries, so it just looks like a jumbled mess on xray. I would be able to tell from an xray whether the fused portion broke, but the radiologist wouldn’t have a clue, it’s so abnormal. I’m hoping whoever sees me will take one look and stuff me in the scanner. I’ve had so many MRIs, I’ve trained myself to go to sleep in them! I’ve had one wrist surgery with regional block (needles in the armpit, not fun), and watched the whole thing on the screen. Did the same with knee surgery. Second wrist, can’t remember. Must have been good. Third wrist I got Propofol! I’ll request that, if that’s where this is going. I got two hernias done with local only….fuuuuuuuuck that hurt!!!! But after the major abdominal surgery that didn’t start out being cancer but turned out to be, I had general, with haldane gas which is lipophilic, so I had “haldane brain” for months. I have a horrible fear of general anesthesia. Like night terrors and sleep paralysis.

  3. wow laura, that all sounds incredibly painful! Feel better soon my friend! Thank god you had friends and your beloved atena. XX

  4. I’ve never broken a bone (knock on wood) but I can imagine breaking a wrist would be horrible. And I must say that is the brownest green area I’ve ever seen. I’ve lived in Arizona and Nevada, so I get it. Hoping for a quick recovery.

    • Thanks, Bradley! It’s nice to see you. Yup, if I had laughed my ass off when I first saw the Green Area, I wouldn’t have busted it later…I hope you never, ever break any bones! No percentage in it.

  5. It sounds just like something I would do
    Yes one rite after another
    And a drum roll at that
    Take care
    Lite will be coming your way
    Big Hugs

  6. I’ll give you the same advice that I recently received from one of my blogging friends (when commenting on my bad luck):


    Shall we all practice being inert? ๐Ÿ™‚

  7. When I got to the hemorrhoid, I had to laugh. Sounds terrible – all three injuries and insults to those injuries. Even the damn hemorrhoid (I’ve had to resort to Botox in my nether regions, and both a hemorrhoidectomy and a sphincterectomy). Wish you less eventful and more healing going forward. My dogs are poodles (bird dogs). They’ve been know to drag me twice.

  8. Doctor you are too funny. Loved your story but not your pain. I’m so sorry about your wrist and your ass. But the ass will be better, faster than your wrist.

  9. Ouch, yikes, ouch, and much sympathy. And gentle hugs.


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