The Story of O(uch)

Some kid I know claims it was a bar fight, but that's not really the way it happened. I really was on my way into the little white church by the river — OK, for a rehearsal with my trombone — when I slipped on ice and went down hard. I admit to chatting with friends instead of watching where I was going. They were nice enough to get me back on my feet and even retrieved my hat and horn bag. Things didn't really start to hurt until I was moving.

Twenty minutes later I had called my favorite bear and asked for ice and a bandage. Bless her heart, she brought them and I finished the rehearsal with my left wrist wrapped. Then she took me to the ER.

There I met the new digital x-ray machine up close. The ER doc announced no break and "gave" me a splint for the wrist. It's very hard to play the trombone with one's left wrist encased in armor, but I got through the performance on Sunday. Much swelling and a fair amount of pain, but at least it wasn't broken. Except ...

After the doc came the radiologist, who found the break in the triquetral bone, shown here. Alas, the hospital notified me by letter, so I went nine days before I found out. Ugh.

Follow up with my doc. More x-rays. A different splint.

The next day, phone call. Wrong splint. A consultation with the orthopedist saying cast and my guy saying mobility led to a custom made plastic splint which seems to meet both needs. The process of making the splint was fascinating, but must await another day to tell.

I don't think these guys get the message that these things cost money and that insurance companies stop paying after a while. That leaves me with two splints in the bank and one on the wrist, 24/7 for month. With summer on the way. And mosquitos.