Seven months later: re-fractured clavicle
A mountain-bike crash in early May warranted a titanium plate and six screws to piece back together my collarbone. I hope I haven't fallen off the face of the discussion forums long enough that some of you ladies won't remember:
http://forums.teamestrogen.com/showt...=clavicle+ride
Reading these forums tempted me far, far too much to start riding before I was fully healed--I missed this place, believe me! You ladies are so good-natured, driven, empathetic.
Though I went on a few rides in the following weeks and months, other injuries (ankle twist, ouch!) kept me very wary of my fragility and the possibility of hardware failure. My attitude did a 180--I advocated my own safety. I respected my limits. I wasn't afraid to be afraid. Before the break, I had no qualms about crashes. I took risks and accepted the falls and disregarded the ensuing injuries. I've had too many concussions and get a little loopy with the short-term memory. But you don't forget intense pain like broken bones and surgery, or disregard permanent nerve damage. For the first time in my life, I took it easy and respected my body.
I seemed to heal up as expected. I regained flexibility and strength. I was thinking about mountain bikes again--even planned to buy a sexy Trek Fuel from a friend and rock out the snow-riding season. I was excited to get my plate removed, as the corners now protruded alarmingly under my skin. The surgeon had told me from the start that the plate had to come out--I didn't have enough tissue over the protruding hardware and risked it wearing and breaking through the skin. It also had to come out within a few months or the titanium would fuse to the bone.
I had the surgery two weeks ago Thursday and couldn't have felt better--I got to keep the plate (shh), I was given no discharge instructions and didn't wake up with my arm in a sling this time. My clavicle was healed, right? What kind of bone doesn't heal after seven months?
Still, I was careful. My boss insisted I stay home from work the next day, so instead I did some light cleaning at home.
I was pushing a dust bunny in the kitchen with the lightest broom you could imagine when the unthinkable happened: I heard a sickening CRACK and felt my shoulder cave in again. This time, I screamed. The first half of the vocalization was shock, the second half despairing realization.
Back at square one. My significant other had to put my coat over my shoulder, tie my shoes, open the passenger side door, help me in, buckle my seatbelt and cringe along with my moaning over every bump and pothole the van's sad suspension couldn't compensate for. He's used to me being very independent, and he was very worried. There was no doubt in my mind the bone had re-fractured.
Thank God I'd picked up the prescription for the percocets. Those made the five hours in the ER a little easier. I was in intense pain by the time I was near the top of the list. Never a pro at self-advocation (my father, a physician, often manages to convince me that my medical concerns are nothing to worry about... this has stuck with me, often to my detriment), I'd thankfully initiated some friendly conversations hours earlier with the staff and they moved me up the list noticing my worsening condition.
My parents had just arrived when I was called in to see a doctor--we were supposed to go out for dinner on their way home from the airport after a few months sailing down to the Bahamas. Hi mom, hi dad.... um, actually, can you meet me in the ER? Yeah, funny story...
I had my father, the physician, come in with me--he knows what questions to ask and how to translate medical jargon. In retrospect, based on what I've written above, I would have been far better off to bring in my mother--who (more accurately) tends to evaluate the amount of pain I'm in as an indicator of how badly I'm injured. (And further, who would have been a little less shocked by the nurse's innocent but far-too-audible question, "so does your dad know about your piercings?" as she helped me take off my bra with my father on the other side of the curtain.)
We all looked at the X-rays. I thought it looked broken and said as much--it was bridged up in the middle where the previous fracture open fracture had been plated together--but then again, I was the only one in the room without an MD. I let the experts speculate:
"Well... it doesn't -look- broken. The only other X-rays we have are from when the plate was still in, so we don't know what it's supposed to look like underneath. But it's -very- unlikely it would have broken again."
The ER doctor left a note for my orthopaedic surgeon. I figured I'd get a call if he was alarmed by the X-ray.
I spent the next week drugged up in bed. The pain was worse than that of the initial break. My arm didn't leave the sling. I didn't dare move my shoulder forward lest I endure an awful shifting of my innards. At least I'd already done the life-minus-dominant-arm routine months earlier and could more or less step into my tank tops and clumsily brush my teeth with the wrong hand.
I had an appointment with the surgeon ten days after the ER ordeal. Finally, some possible answers. His first words to me were, "what were you doing sweeping the day after surgery?" I reminded him that he hadn't told me not to, and he KNEW he had to keep a tight rein on my allowed activities based on past experience ("Can I ride my road bike?" "No." "Horse?" "No." "...Mountain bike?" "DEFINITELY not." "Skateboard?" "Okay, just go by this general rule: if it's fun, you shouldn't do it.")
He prodded the incision (ouch!), then looked at my X-ray. I asked, "what do you think it was that gave in there?"
"Oh, probably just some scar tissue..."
"Whatever it was, it made one awful cracking noise."
"....OH... The ER didn't tell me you heard a crack."
He prodded my incision again (ouch!) "Does this hurt?"
"Yep."
He pulled up the X-rays and studied them closer. He did a few double takes before concluding, "it DID re-fracture."
He showed me the radiograph from before surgery. "It looks healed, here. After seven months there's no reason it wouldn't be." It did look healed. "I've taken a lot of plates out of a lot of people and never seen anything like this. I really don't want to put another plate in there..."
I joked, "...I'm sorry I ruined all your careful work..."
"Oh, no, no! This isn't your fault. Had I known it wasn't healed, I wouldn't have taken the plate out!"
So the plan is to keep a close eye on the fracture--I have an appointment next week. It's still in a good position, so I guess if it heals, it heals, albeit with a big bump in the middle, and if it doesn't... more orthopaedic surgery.
The pain is manageable now without medication, but the bone clicks and cracks and shifts around an awful lot no matter how careful I am. Any movement feels like I'm being poked with a blunt pencil from under the skin. One of the tendons in my neck catches in the crack when I turn my head or swallow or sneeze and causes me to gasp in sharp pain.
Years and years of no-holds-barred athletic endeavors with a complete disregard to all injuries, thus amassing a whole slew of chronic conditions.... That fracture in May was the first time I stepped back and really made an effort to look after myself, and my reward? Another fracture! Why must all my life lessons be so painful?
How do you deal with something like this? A friend of mine just found me the PERFECT horse (sound, affectionate, huge jump, lots of GO).... owner forced to sell, and mare is going for a steal. Can't even ride to try the sweet mare out. I guess... Not the time. I'm going to the Carribean next week to visit my parents on their sailboat--as I've been working since age ten, I haven't been on a vacation since then. I guess... No getting on and off the boat without help, no diving, no sitting up on the boom or oaring the dinghy about.
I've been told that my recklessness would come back to haunt me... But I paid my dues. I carefully healed my fracture. Had it re-fractured from some reckless action, or from a real accident, this would be easier to accept. Does it ever mess with one's sense of security to break a bone without provocation!
Aye.. as always, thank you for reading, and I welcome your comments/personal stories! Please tell me I'm not alone and I won't be broken forever!
