I'm a very persistent, stubborn woman. Ask anyone. Especially ask the Rock Star, who actually thinks it's one of my more endearing qualities. So this past weekend was our last for snowboarding, and we headed up to the resort we went to back in February, on Valentines Day, the day I broke a few of my ribs on the left side at the sternum and at the bone/cartilage joint.
Apparently, I didn't do it well enough the first time, so I did it again. First run. It was icy, and I wasn't going nearly fast enough for the turn I wanted to take, and I took it anyway. Stupid of me. I knew it was going to be a hard hit, so I tried to tuck and roll, but I ended up landing on my right arm.
You EMS and medical folk, you know that sound that happens when you're doing good CPR. I heard that sound when I hit the ground. And it's kind of cool on somebody else, but it made me throw up in my mouth a little when I heard it coming from me. Or maybe that was just a normal reaction to the incredible flash of pain that jolted through my body as two of my bones snapped. I stayed very, very still for about thirty seconds, then stood up, assessed, and decided I could manage a few more runs. ("what?!" you say. . . I know, I know, but I was doing really well on improving my turns, and this was a huge group of friends I hadn't seen for a while, and it didn't hurt all that bad, and I'm a master [mistress? matron?] of denial, etc etc etc. . .)
I managed about four more lifts, one of which I rode clean from start to finish (yay me!!), then hit the bar for a much needed beverage and reassessment. I did try one time after the bar, but I was favoring and guarding so many different body parts that I ended up riding sloppy and decided it was quitting time.
After the Rock Star helped me get undressed, he tried to help me into bed. Bad idea. You've not truly experienced crepitus until you've felt it (and heard it, dear lord) on yourself. Even the unflappable Rock Star got a little pale.
It's a little embarrassing to admit that I broke both sides of my rib cage two months apart. And I don't want to hear any "maybe you should quit snowboarding"s, because it's something I love and something I'm actually starting to get better at. Feel free to suggest various forms of protection, however: so far, I've heard some real winners, including chest protectors from super cross racing; pillows, duct tape and baling wire; DDD boob job, and hockey gear. Personally, I think I'll stick with a calcium supplement and not falling anymore. And a lot of percocet and ibuprofen.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Thursday, April 9, 2009
i'm such a softie
I may not have mentioned any of this before.
Some time last year, oh, around October, I realized I have this really incredible insurance that I'm paying out the wachoo for every month. And MixMan already got his cochlear implant, and they paid all but around $300 of the $60,000 of that, so I started thinking that maybe I should be taking advantage of that spiffy, pay-out-the-wachoo insurance and get some stuff done. Particularly since you never know when my mouth is going to get away from me and get me fired.
So. Although little Firefighter Girl and Rock Star babies would be beyond cute and incredibly amazing, as far as babies go, after some brief discussion about the possibility of same and then some shared horrified looks between myself and Rock Star as that potential future loomed, and realizing that with Miss Diva turning 7 this summer I am only 11 years from freedom, and I'll be damned if I start over, I decided to get the tubes tied. And one of the reasons I decided, with Rock Star's input, to do that instead of him getting the old snip-snip (which he volunteered to do, and attempted, but because he is still young-ish and doesn't have kids of his own, his doc wouldn't refer him. Feh!) was because I also had really horrid varicose veins on the right leg, and apparently one of them was throwing clots. And you can't really get a doctor to take those out unless you promise you aren't going to get preggers again. So.
Tubal in October, laser ablation at the end of January.
Still had stitches in my right leg on valentine's day, when the Rock Star and I and a few of his friends went boarding. And- funny thing- I was really concerned about hurting my wrists, and even went so far as to check out some wrist guards that I ended up deciding were really pointless. But the wrists, as it turns out, weren't what I needed to worry about. So, second run down, I'm getting a little cocky because my turns are looking beautiful, and I make a turn from toe edge to heel edge and then catch just a little bit of ice on the slope, and suddenly I'm airborne, and then suddenly I'm not. I landed right smack in front of two 16 year old boys who, I notice, are wincing.
I won't kid you, I knocked the air out of myself, and I haven't done that since I was a kid and tried to polish my brother's chin-up bar while it was still mounted in the doorway. I finally rolled over and scooted to the side of the slope, where the Rock Star caught up to me and asked me some standard paramedic type questions. All I knew was that my whole chest hurt like hell, but I figured I'd just end up with bruised boobage. We headed up a different lift and by the time we made it to the top, I was having a hard time breathing because it hurt so bad, and every single turn, bump, and fall was excruciating. I am not proud to say, I yelled at the Rock Star. And his friend. And anyone else who would listen. And then I spent the rest of the time in the bar at the lodge, drinking and seething and hurting and generally feeling sorry for myself.
But it turns out, you see, that when I landed (on my mp3 player that was in my front pocket), I cracked ribs 6, 7, and 8 at the sternum, and then broke ribs 5 and 6 where the bone meets the costal cartilage right under my left breast. I could barely breathe for 2 weeks, and I would wake myself up in the middle of the night trying to roll over. Luckily, I'm mostly healed now.
All of this is a really, really long introduction to tell you that. . .I've gotten a little soft. I haven't run or worked out for months due to surgeries/pain/injuries, etc. And when I got on the scale on Monday, after realizing that my pants were feeling a little tight, I decided that was enough, by gum, and I'm going to become a Jillian Michaels convert.
That's right, people. Firefighter Girl is going to become a Shredhead. Thanks to
Motherhood Uncensored for the inspiration.
Some time last year, oh, around October, I realized I have this really incredible insurance that I'm paying out the wachoo for every month. And MixMan already got his cochlear implant, and they paid all but around $300 of the $60,000 of that, so I started thinking that maybe I should be taking advantage of that spiffy, pay-out-the-wachoo insurance and get some stuff done. Particularly since you never know when my mouth is going to get away from me and get me fired.
So. Although little Firefighter Girl and Rock Star babies would be beyond cute and incredibly amazing, as far as babies go, after some brief discussion about the possibility of same and then some shared horrified looks between myself and Rock Star as that potential future loomed, and realizing that with Miss Diva turning 7 this summer I am only 11 years from freedom, and I'll be damned if I start over, I decided to get the tubes tied. And one of the reasons I decided, with Rock Star's input, to do that instead of him getting the old snip-snip (which he volunteered to do, and attempted, but because he is still young-ish and doesn't have kids of his own, his doc wouldn't refer him. Feh!) was because I also had really horrid varicose veins on the right leg, and apparently one of them was throwing clots. And you can't really get a doctor to take those out unless you promise you aren't going to get preggers again. So.
Tubal in October, laser ablation at the end of January.
Still had stitches in my right leg on valentine's day, when the Rock Star and I and a few of his friends went boarding. And- funny thing- I was really concerned about hurting my wrists, and even went so far as to check out some wrist guards that I ended up deciding were really pointless. But the wrists, as it turns out, weren't what I needed to worry about. So, second run down, I'm getting a little cocky because my turns are looking beautiful, and I make a turn from toe edge to heel edge and then catch just a little bit of ice on the slope, and suddenly I'm airborne, and then suddenly I'm not. I landed right smack in front of two 16 year old boys who, I notice, are wincing.
I won't kid you, I knocked the air out of myself, and I haven't done that since I was a kid and tried to polish my brother's chin-up bar while it was still mounted in the doorway. I finally rolled over and scooted to the side of the slope, where the Rock Star caught up to me and asked me some standard paramedic type questions. All I knew was that my whole chest hurt like hell, but I figured I'd just end up with bruised boobage. We headed up a different lift and by the time we made it to the top, I was having a hard time breathing because it hurt so bad, and every single turn, bump, and fall was excruciating. I am not proud to say, I yelled at the Rock Star. And his friend. And anyone else who would listen. And then I spent the rest of the time in the bar at the lodge, drinking and seething and hurting and generally feeling sorry for myself.
But it turns out, you see, that when I landed (on my mp3 player that was in my front pocket), I cracked ribs 6, 7, and 8 at the sternum, and then broke ribs 5 and 6 where the bone meets the costal cartilage right under my left breast. I could barely breathe for 2 weeks, and I would wake myself up in the middle of the night trying to roll over. Luckily, I'm mostly healed now.
All of this is a really, really long introduction to tell you that. . .I've gotten a little soft. I haven't run or worked out for months due to surgeries/pain/injuries, etc. And when I got on the scale on Monday, after realizing that my pants were feeling a little tight, I decided that was enough, by gum, and I'm going to become a Jillian Michaels convert.
That's right, people. Firefighter Girl is going to become a Shredhead. Thanks to
Motherhood Uncensored for the inspiration.
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