today's the day

Today's the day I accidentally snowboarded over a cliff (in hindsight I shouldn't have tried to stop, should just have jumped) and fractured my lumbar one, or, if you like, I broke my back. (More dramatic). I had tried to stop but had too much momentum and hoped there would be some sort of ledge to stop me as I slid over, but instead I bumped the back of my head and can clearly remember my thoughts on the way down: "Ow, I bumped my head - shit, I'm free falling...actually, this is quite a cool feeling except I know I'm going to land-wa-" SPLAT. Well, not splat so much as 'flump'. It was a beautiful, crisp, blue-sky morning after a night's snowfall (-10ºC) so I landed in a lovely bed of fresh powder -small consolation to the fiery pain in my back. I groaned and moaned and lifted my knees slightly so it was more comfortable for my back ( feet still attached to snowboard) and tried to concentrate on the cold snow on my back - my instant ice pack. Yelling for help was pointless, there was no-one around just then, but I knew it wouldn't be too long, there were bound to be hundreds of people on this perfect day. I heard a voice at the top of the cliff "Uh oh" and I yelled for help. A lovely Swedish man (young and blonde - surprise!) came to my aid and removed my snowboard for me. I told him where I worked and could he please take it to them and tell them I'd be late...(it was my final run before heading to work as a waitress in an aprés ski bar/restaurant on the slopes). He went to alert the skilift guys who sent the 'banana boat' stretcher guys (2 skiers ski you down the slope in this hammock/stretcher thingy). My Swedish rescuer came back to talk to me and to keep me talking - he was taking his medical training seriously: keep the patient talking. When the guys came to lift me on the stretcher they realised after my screams of agony that there was no way they could lift me - just touching my hips to lift me was excruciating. They enquired as to whether I had insurance, which I did (I was working legally AND I had travel insurance) so they called for the helicopter rescue. All this transpired in German which was a pain, but not as painful as my back. So today is the day I also got my very first helicopter ride. I remember lifting my head up to see the top of the trees but it wasn't really that comfortable or exciting, and the morphine was finally easing my pain and making it tempting to rest my head...Getting the morphine IN was also a process- my veins tend to hide at the best of times, but add -10ºC to the equation...I assure the medic I don't care about the pain in my arm, go ahead and try again. Try again. Maybe this arm? Result.

The hospital was a bizarre experience. All the nurses were nuns. Everyone spoke German. I half thought I'd died and gone to a German speaking heaven. (Not for very long though). It's all a haze - the x-rays, the bed etc... my first clear memory of the hospital is when the dr finally came round to my bedside to tell me what I had done. (I had by now figured out I would be more than just late for work). He began in German, but I couldn't follow. English, please, bitte. Imagine now, a german accent: "You haf broken your back."

-

These words are profound to me. They speak of a different life. A life worth living? Not sure. I cry and wail. "What!? But I can walk!" I assure him.

"No! You cannot valk."

Oh my god.

The nurses and doctors don't seem to understand why I am so upset. Finally, later that evening, when my boss comes to visit me (bringing Ben along too) he finds out exactly what the problem is and explains that I have fractured my spine and won't be able to walk until they put a cast on my back - I'm not a paraplegic. RELIEF!

As it turns out that 3 'skibums' - 2 other boys and myself have had the same injury on the same day. I'm the only one who was helicoptered in though, one guy snowboarded all the way down and went to the dr, who sent him to hospital in an ambulance and the other one walked out, was seen by his doctor and was given a ride in. I didn't know them that well, but since we were all in the same boat, we phoned each other (bed to bed) and compared notes.

As ever, in hospital, ones bowel movements become paramount to whatever condition you're in for. We all had to declare when we'd last gone to the loo and the wait was on for the next installment. Once the 'eagle had landed' we were then hung up by a sling on a hook (all seemed extremely archaic and torturous) and wrapped and cast. Hanging there (face up to the ceiling) waiting for the cast to dry was, um, uncomfortable. Not pleasant. So once cast, it was a bit like being a tortoise. From collarbone to pubic bone - a big barrel cast. Not slimming. Very upright. They cut a hole where my stomach was, never sure why that was, but there you go, I was free, to walk out of there.