At Least In Italy, Gravity Is Not My Friend

OK, so last month I had the fantastic opportunity to travel to Italy for a week to celebrate Cary’s 40^th birthday. We stayed in a gorgeous villa in Tuscany, rode in a hot air balloon, toured a vineyard, ate some of the most delicious meals ever, wine was flowing – it was simply fabulous. A dream come true. Seriously.

Everything was perfect except for one little hitch. On the very first day about 12 of us took off on mountain bikes for what was (ostensibly) to be a lovely hour long bike ride through the Tuscan countryside. The plan was to end up in Monterrigioni where we would meet up with the rest of the group for lunch. It was about 25 minutes into the ride that it dawned on me that this “leisurely ride” was more like a spinning class gone horribly awry. Nonetheless I was going to suck it up and make it to Monterrigioni even if I had to cough up a lung. Ya, not so much. It was somewhere at the 45 minute mark that we came to the top of this hill that was at about a 45 degree angle. The path down the hill was gravel and at the bottom of the hill was a hard right turn on to pavement.

It’s about 1/4 of the way down the hill when I come to appreciate that, in cases such as these, gravity is not my friend. Here’s the dilemma – do I stick it out and take my chances making the right turn on the pavement? Noooooo…if I don’t make the turn I could careen over an embankment – possibly run into a tree (ouch!). OK, so I decide to slow down a bit using my rear brakes. Oh god, now I am fishtailing…must get off bike now….shit…slow down…head for the dirt…big rock…and there I go, over the handlebars. Holy Shit! I am totally fucking injured and wow – it hurts like hell. I open my eyes and I am staring at no less than 4 gay men, all of them impeccably dressed for a day of biking in Italy. Me, I am covered in blood and dirt. I can hear 5 more on the way. Everyone is remaining very calm and for that I am grateful. However, here I am with all of these professional, successful, over-educated men and not single doctor among them. Why don’t I know any doctors?

Next, I am greeted by Hot-Italian-Bike-Tour-Dude. He moves my wrist around – determines it is not broken – and then rings up his Hot Italian Wife and asks her to come fetch me and my damaged bike. I am such a dork and this moment is rather embarassing - fierce pain notwithstanding. I mean, this the 1st day of our vacation and I've already completely spazzed out. OK, so after I reassure everyone that I am fine to go back to the villa by myself I am left sitting on the side of the Tuscan country road with Hot-Italian-Bike-Tour-Dude. Hmmm, I am usually pretty good with the casual conversation thing but, he is like well, super hunky hot, and I am covered in dirt and blood and about forty pounds overweight weight sitting in the blazing tuscan sun in unearthly pain. So I took a pass on flirting with Hot-Italian-Bike-Tour-Dude.

Fast forward through the rest of the week: I fashioned a lovely sling from a lovely lavender faux-pashmina that I brought along, co-opted every pain-killer in the villa (which were considerable, mind you), drank a lot of red wine and successfully ignored the fact that while my wrist seemed to be OK it was really my elbow that was causing me the most concern and pain. It wasn’t until I was stuck in security in Frankfurt in line behind some dumb American who evidently hadn’t gotten the memo that we had just recently declared war on mouthwash and lens solution that I realized I was fucked. The pain at this point has become ungodly. By the time I got to the Lufthansa gate for my connection to JFK I was in such a hysterical state that the creepy German lady from Lufthansa totally managed to make me cry even while she upgraded me to Business-class for free. The flight attendants in business totally rocked though. They were so nice and helpful and even got extra pillows for me for my arm. I wish everywhere was like Business class.

When I got back to Maryland I went straight to the ER in Easton. Easton Hospital has got a lot of problems, let’s face it, it’s not exactly the Mayo clinic. However, the one thing the country hospital has over the city hospital is the wait in the emergency room. As in, there wasn’t one. I was in & out with X-rays and an appointment for the ortho specialist in less than 3 hours. Good stuff. Even got a script for Vicodin. Nice.

The 1^st ortho doc I went to took one look at my X-rays and immediately referred me to one of his partners that specialized in “unique” breaks in the forearm and elbow. Evidently, the fracture of the radial head in my left elbow was so severe that it completely freaked out the ER doc and the 1^st ortho doc. Thankfully, the 2^nd ortho doc was a bit more reassuring and indicated that my fracture could be remedied in some manner (though there goes my pro tennis career – darnit!). Long story short: I had surgery where he took the broken bits of my elbow out of my arm and decided that was the best solution. Now I have to go to physical therapy for 2 hours/day, 3 days/week. My PT is very impressed with my committment by the way.

Did I mention that it was my left elbow that was broken and that I am left-handed? Bummer.

The good news: After the surgery – there was no longer anything in my arm that was broken. So no cast! The bad news: I have a nasty scar from my surgery and it’ll be a few months before I get meaningful mobililty & strength back in my arm. Was it worth it? Hell yes. I love Italy and can’t wait to go back.

True, these last few weeks have been at best inconvenient and at worst painful and aggravating. Particularly when it comes to the little everyday things that I cannot do or have trouble doing. Here’s a list – just to give you an idea.

Things You Can’t Do With One Arm – or – Why It Sucks To Break Your Left Elbow When You Are Left Handed

• I cannot put things in my hair, at least, not very well. Barrettes, ponytails, shampoo. I have now resorted to wearing my hair in a scarf everyday. Gray roots have completely taken over. Thank goodness I can carry off the “natural bohemian” look.
• Eating - so much for table manners. Here’s a test for you righties out there. Tie your right arm at your side (use a scarf or a belt) and then try eating a bowl of cereal using only your left hand. Suddenly, I am 3 years old again trying to master the art of using a spoon. Thankfully, roasted chicken is an acceptable “finger food”.
• Wear jeans. Again, keeping your right arm at your side, try putting on your favorite jeans.
• Sign my name. The expression on the nurse’s face after seeing the look on my face when she asked me to sign my surgery release is particularly priceless.
• A good night’s sleep. Can’t sleep well if every time you move into a new position you potentially put yourself into excruciating pain (see final note).
• Put on deodorant. If you can’t bend your elbow – you can’t put on deodorant. It’s just that simple.
• I cannot open things. Anything. Bottles, doors, windows, bag of chips, prescription bottle of pain killers.Kill me now.