By Jenny Bardsley
I’ve got some good news and bad news. The good news is that I have fulfilled my childhood dream of taking ice-skating lessons. The bad news is that I broke my wrist.
Yeah, I feel pretty stupid.
There I was, taking side-by-side lessons with my daughter. Class was over, and we were waiting for the Zamboni to condition the ice.
When the doors closed, it was time for free skate. I took my 4-year-old’s hand, and we headed onto the rink.
Halfway around, my daughter lost her balance and tugged on my right arm. My left arm broke the fall — literally.
As soon as my wrist fractured I knew something was wrong. The pain was so bad that either I was going to throw up or pass out. Fortunately, I managed to get both of us off the ice and call my husband.
Unfortunately, it was Cub Scout night and my husband is the Scout master.
Our conversation went something like this:
“Come get us right now!”
“Hunh? We’re in the middle of the Webelo ceremony.”
“I don’t care about the Webelos! I need to go to the hospital!”
“But the Webelos — what? The hospital!”
Meanwhile, my daughter was asking to go skate some more. Hmm … not going to happen.
Instead, I asked her to unlace the boots. She struggled to take off our skates for a few minutes and then gave up.
Right about then I looked at my fingers and saw my hand already starting to swell.
I gritted my teeth and pulled off my watch and wedding ring. “Mother-loving-son-of-a-biscuit!”
It was becoming increasingly difficult not to swear.
I tried some crappy Lamaze breathing, but that’s never been my thing.
Mercifully, my husband must have sped all the way over to Lynnwood, because he got there fast.
But then we had to drive back to Edmonds and dump our kids with friends who really saved the day. When we drove up their driveway, the mom was even waiting on her porch. Which was good, because as soon as my kids were out of earshot, I really lost it.
It had been so hard to keep in the pain. Finally I could let it out. My teeth chattered. I shivered. There were prayers and curses involved. That ride to the emergency room wasn’t pretty.
Then, when we got to the hospital I made a shocking discovery. Narcotics aren’t nearly as much fun as people say! X-rays were excruciating, even with Vicodin.
That was several weeks ago. A splint, surgery, some hardware, another splint; I finally have a cast.
It’s been a hard way to learn that ice skating is a risky hobby.
I think I’ll stick to one-handed blogging from now on.
Jennifer Bardsley blogs at teachingmybabytoread.com.