It's Broken

I remember when roller blades came out. I wanted a pair badly. I think I even asked for them from "Santa"--I was in college, so I didn't, necessarily, believe in the sliding down the chimney Santa, but I will always believe in the spirit of Santa. At the time, Mom said, "no way, you'll break your arm! Or worse!" So I convinced a friend to get me a pair and take me to a parking garage to try them out. He did. I think that was the first time I flew--four floors, ramps I filled with figure eights. Boy did I love those skates.

I still skate. Collin and I indulge in the Saturday morning under-12 matinee skate once or twice a month. Good exercise, good music, we leave after our 2 hour session full of happy-person endorphins. I think those endorphins are what helped me drive to not one but two emergency clinics this weekend.

I fell. Last song of the session and I fell. As I made the turn for the "slow backwards skate," Collin came around me. We ran into each other. Landed hard. Luckily he was fine. I, however, knew when I hit the rink that it was broken. I might have said one semi-silent "damn" as I rested the arm on my head and made my way off the rink. The wrist definitely wasn't shaped right when I got up. I told Collin to find his friend and take off his skates while I went to the concession stand for ice. Broken. I knew it.

Both bones in my wrist are healing and according to the Orthopedic Surgeon well-aligned (read no surgery!). I'm a one-handed typist, one-handed artist... pretty much one handed for the next 6-8 weeks. I'm thankful it wasn't worse. Is there a limitation on Mom's predictions?