Hello pavement, meet my face…
If it wasn’t so shocking or so extremely painful, I might have actually been laughing. We were on the homeward stretch of our 5 km evening run, about a kilometre away from completion, we were talking, I was feeling good, my calves were as loose as a wet noodle, I was getting ready to surge forward. And then… Big Ring had said something, but I couldn’t hear him, so I looked back in his direction, and by the time I had repositioned my head forward, it was too late. The toe of my shoe had fumbled over an elevated piece of cement and I was going down. Oh crud.
I had two choices: Put my hands flat down for support and risk breaking my wrist again, or go into an all out dive. I chose the latter. With my arms outstretched as far as they would go and my face getting up close and personal with the pavement (seriously, I would have made my former softball coach proud with that sliding dive) all I could think was oh crap, my face is going to be mangled … that is, until I felt the pull, the pop, and the sudden throb in my shoulder. Oh freaking crud.
I laid there for what seemed like minutes, but was only seconds, stunned. I didn’t think I could move. The throbbing in my arm was so unbearable, I thought I was going to puke. Big Ring helped me up into a sitting position, where I stayed for another few minutes before mustering up the courage to get up and start walking. The pain grew worse.
When Big Ring suggested we go to the hospital, that’s when the waterworks started. I have a hate-hate relationship with hospitals. I have spent far too much time in them, and generally not for good reasons. And the hospital in my town, I have an especially large hate on for. But when the mere act of lifting a fork up with my right arm proved too difficult, I succumbed.
Three and a half hours later in the scuzziest hospital possible, with gangsters and their molls, drunkards and drug fiends, police escorts, a dude wearing a tuxedo shirt, and a chick not wearing shoes or socks playing with her toes right next to me (are you freaking kidding me???) I was diagnosed with not a separated shoulder as was initially expected, but with a sprained rotator cuff complete with pulled tendons. Oh joy.
But hey, my face didn’t get mangled. Despite feeling like my chin was spewing out blood from major road rash, not one drop of blood was lost – not even evidence of a scrape. So that’s a positive 😀
The doc told me I wouldn’t be able to drive for a week (gimped right arm + stick shift = bad combination) and that I should look into physio, to which I smiled thinking no way in hell. At the start of this year, I made a pact with myself – no more spending thousands of dollars on physiotherapy. And a sore shoulder, that was not separated, was not going to break that pact.
I didn’t go to work yesterday, but as the day progressed, I started getting more mobility in my arm. So today, I did go to work. And let me just say, if you were on the same roads as me this morning, I apologize for the fear I may have imposed upon you. Shifting from second to third and from third to second was a little more difficult than I had anticipated – it required two hands! Eek!
Two days post fall, my body feels more like I’ve been in a car accident than anything else. My shoulder is getting better. I’m doing regular arm stir exercises. I’m getting more mobility. And I’m sure by the end of the weekend, I’ll be pain free… I hope!