1.30.22
Tuesday morning, January 25th, a little before 5 o’clock, after donning my coat, gloves, wooly hat and wellies, I quietly left the house. The snow sparkled in the moonlight while in the sky a myriad of stars twinkled above me. It was cold. The ground was an obstacle course of crusty snow interspersed with deep ruts where our vehicles had carved a path through the melting slush of the day before. Here and there the occasional bare patch of frozen ground showed where the warmth of the sun was slowly winning the war over the snow-covered landscape. Now, in the below freezing pre-dawn of a new day, ice filled the ruts and lay like a glistening mantle over everything. It was beautiful! I love this time of day, those peaceful moments before the light of dawn tinges the horizon. Hermione had shown all the signs of being ready to pig the night before, so as I headed down the hill towards the farrowing house, I was sure I would find her either starting to give birth or maybe even a couple of wee piglets already at her side.
Anxious to see how she was doing I was mindful of my steps as I made my way the last few yards to the building. The warmth of the sun the day before had melted the top layer of snow into a rivulet of water, the chilly night turning it into a slippery slope of treacherous ice. Keeping to the deeper crusty snow to the side of the pathway, I felt safe. Then it happened. My foot hit ice and before I knew it, my feet came out from under me, and my body slammed to the ground.
The sudden sharp snap of the bones breaking in my left arm sounded uncommonly loud in the still air. Then came the excruciating pain and my realization of what had happened. Now those who know me, know it is a very rare thing for me to swear. The occasional “bugger!” or “bloody bugger!” might slip out in rare moments of dire frustration, but the words that spilled from my mouth as I cradled my arm to my side would have made a sailor blush! Sweat beaded my brow as I lay on my side, gasping for breath as I fought not to pass out. Steeling myself against the pain, I forced myself to my feet and started back up the hill towards the barn, knowing the only way I could get to the house was to use the four-wheeler which thankfully was parked in there. As I entered the barn, my legs began to give way and I sank with a sob onto the seat of the machine. My mind went blank! Holding my deformed arm against my side I struggled to remember how to turn the silly machine on! After what felt like an age, but I am sure was a mere minute or two, I remembered, got the machine running and slowly made my way up the road towards the house.
How to tell Darrell was my next thought as he was still in bed, fast asleep. “Matey” I said, nudging the bed with my leg, “Matey, wake up.” Instantly he sat up, turning on the bedside lamp. “What’s wrong?” he said, anxiously noting the way I held my arm to my side. “I slipped and broke my arm. I need to go to the hospital.”
While Darrell quickly dressed, I went into the kitchen and managed to call our local hospital in John Day letting them know we were heading in and that I had a severely broken arm. Directing Darrell to grab a towel and a sock, I guided him through immobilizing my arm with a makeshift splint. Within a few minutes we were on the road. Despite Darrell’s careful driving, every jolt, every bend in the road on that 60-mile journey was excruciatingly painful.
Upon arriving at the E.R. and after a brief wait for an available bed, I was at last seen by the attending physician. X-rays were taken and medication for the pain administered which did little to ease the discomfort. It was indeed a severe break. I had fractured the ends of my radius and ulna bones, just above my wrist and they needed to be set before a splint could be applied. Thankfully, the sedation they gave me knocked me out cold and when I woke up my arm was well splinted and felt somewhat less painful. With luck, the reduction of the break would allow healing with just a cast in place, but an orthopedic surgeon would ultimately determine this. I was referred to Dr. Holt in Bend who would see me on Thursday.
On our way home, my mind ran through all that had to be done on the farm. Thank goodness Darrell was over his cold, but now the burden of tending the animals, a sow about to pig – or maybe with babies already on the ground – as well as taking care of me, would fall on his shoulders. What a rotten time to break one’s arm! But is there ever a good time? I resigned myself that what will be will be. Nothing could turn back the clock and change what had happened, we just have to deal with things as they come along and make the best of it.
The next day Darrell made me stay in my easy chair after helping me get dressed and plying me with cups of tea. Hermione had farrowed, sadly not all survived but that was something we had to accept. I was worried about Heidi’s udder as her calf was not yet old enough to suckle down all four of her quarters. The last thing I wanted was for her to get mastitis! A little later in the day, with pain pills on board and my arm in a sling, Darrell drove me down to the farrowing house to check on Hermione as well as Heidi. Hermione and babies were doing fine and despite my worries, Heidi’s udder looked great. Yet with the snow still covering the ground, freezing temperatures at night and all the critters to take care of, how on earth could Darrell leave the farm to take me to my appointment in Bend the next morning? Problem solved. As much as it pained him not to be with me, he agreed to let my dear pal Lynda chauffeur me to my surgeon’s appointment.
Dropping me off at Lynda’s house bright and early the next morning, my heart ached at the worried look on Darrell’s face as we said our bye-bye’s. The meeting with the orthopedic surgeon went well although I was disappointed to learn that despite the excellent realigning of my bones in John Day, they had not stayed in place and would require surgical intervention for successful healing. Thinking I might have a couple of days to get used to the idea, I was surprised when Dr. Holt informed me surgery would be the very next day, Friday! On our way home, Lynda insisted she take me back over to Bend the following day. We would stay the night, in case of any delays or complications, and head home early Saturday morning. What a champ!
The surgery hopefully was a success. I will be back to see the surgeon this coming Thursday when my splint, with luck, will be replaced with a brace. The plates and screws holding my fractured bones in place have greatly reduced my discomfort and the pain is finally controllable with the occasional couple of ibuprofens. Now the challenge of being patient while I heal begins. Although I write right-handed, I am quite ambidextrous, so it has been interesting to discover how to do simple things such as trying to get dressed or brushing one’s hair without the use of my left hand.
Darrell is my rock, and he pampers me like mad, hardly letting me do anything! I have started milking Heidi again although Darrell must put my milker together for me and insists on driving me down to the milk house. I am starting to help with morning chores, very slowly I might add! The next couple of months are going to test my patience I am sure, but I know I must be good and follow doctor’s – and Darrell’s – orders. The last thing I want is to give myself any setbacks. With the days getting longer and the sun shining out there, sitting inside in my chair with my arm propped up on a pillow is a tad frustrating albeit necessary. Now is the time for me to accept what has happened, to believe there is ultimately a reason it happened and know all will be well. As they say, this too shall pass.