Today has been a writing sort of a day, look at me go…… So now that I have told you about the shit stink that lead up to Thanksgiving, let me offer a better explanation as to how I broke my clavicle and how that has panned out for me in South Africa. So to begin with my goal for Thanksgiving was to get in and get out. Granted I was feeling in a much better space having gotten back to site and cleared my head a bit, I felt much more grounded and ready to focus and get to work as soon as Thanksgiving was done with. That having been said there was still some stuff on my mind and I felt the need to blow of a little steam if you will which leads us to the Chibuku Challenge. I’m not going to go into too much detail here as to preserve the dignity one should possess at the age of 27 but the Chibuku Challenge is an annual event that Peace Corps volunteers do at Thanksgiving and it really just involves activities that can be paired with drinking Chibuku (a local maize beer). I figured it had been kind of tough month why not get into the spirit of things, pound some shit out, make a night of it, you know…. The sad thing is I wasn’t even intoxicated when this injury occurred it was just bad luck. The event in question was sock wrestling. For the challenge we had teams of four and for this particular event one team member was the sock wrestler and the other the chugger, I was our teams wrestler. The object of said event was to remove your opponents socks via wrestling, we had put mattresses down on the ground which served as our arena if you will. The event could be won, one of two ways, either through whoever got the socks off first or who completed chugging first. I knew I was in trouble when I saw that Bonnie was my wrestling rival. Bonnie was a rugby player, I’ve seen the girl wrestle before, its powerful stuff, and three weeks prior she had thrown out her own boyfriends shoulder wrestling with him. There was an ominous feeling but I felt that if I stood strong I could hold her off long enough for my partner to complete chugging and we’d be good. So I stepped up to the mat, game face on, prepared for a tough fight, and what I got was a clavicle in two pieces. She came at my like I ton of bricks and rugby tackled my ass to the ground, meaning she rushed me from the side and threw me down onto my shoulder, when I hit the ground I heard it snap, I remember thinking ohhh that can’t be good, but I didn’t want to go down without a fight, mind you in the end she did manage to get my socks, but not before I managed to flip her over get up on top of her and choke her. Looking back I should have continued choking her long enough to have gotten the socks, had I known my clavicle was broken I wouldn’t have been so kind but I was like you cannot choke people megan, that’s just unacceptable behavior, and the minute I showed mercy she managed to get me down and get the socks. There it is that’s how I snapped my collar bone into two pieces, not a noble tale, but I suppose somewhat entertaining, and not as foolish as it could have been, it was just a good old fashioned sock wrestling derailed by a super agro rugby chic.
As soon as I stood up I knew something was not right, it was a tough night……The next day I went to the doctor and they sent me in for x-rays. I figured it was probably just a hairline fracture or something so when the technician handed me my x-ray I about feel over. I will keep this x ray for all of time, not only was my collar bone in two separate and discrete pieces but there was a good ¼ inch between those pieces. I could feel this bump on my collar bone and in looking at the x ray what I realized I was feeling was the severed bone poking into my skin. It was a toughy, not pretty at all, hence they had to send my to South Africa to have repair work done. What they ended up doing is putting a metal plate over those two pieces of bone, screwing the plate into the bones to hold the old girl together, and then waiting for the healing magic to happen. This meant going under anesthesia, having them drill into my collar bone and staying over night in the hospital. Mind you although I would like to reiterate the fact that I was not drunk when this happened as I’m too old for that kind of shit, I do recognize that this injury was my own doing, so I don’t feel too sorry for myself. Granted can’t a girl just want to engage in a friendly round of sock wrestling without serious repercussions I ask?
It was an excruciatingly painful injury and the idea of surgery wasn’t on my top ten desires list but really the only thing that has been deeply troubling about the whole event is how long I am going to be out of site. Not much that can be done for that now but it still is unfortunate and bad timing as I was just out for IST and W2W.
I got into S Africa on Tuesday and was informed upon my arrival that I would be going into surgery the following morning. I should take this opportunity to thank everyone who has called, posted messages to facebook etc. I can’t tell you how much that meant to me to know that you all were thinking about me. Rationally and logically I knew surgery no big deal, it has to be done, and I’ll be better off for it but….. I didn’t think I was a super pansy and in fact I wasn’t but I didn’t foresee it being as frightening as it was. Its strange cause you can know there’s really nothing that’s happening that merits serious worry I was just going to go in and get my shoulder fixed no big deal but while I was sitting in my hospital bed, in that stupid ass gown, with a roomful of strangers, waiting for a doctor I had never met to perform a procedure I knew very little about I was suddenly like holy shit really afraid. One a brighter, less self pitying note, there were some funny stories attached to my hospitalization. One being, I was prayed over by an unknown women who was in the room with me. I was very much lost in my own thoughts and she caught me off guard when she asked if she could pray for me, normally I would have swiftly and efficiently found my way out of that one, as we all know how I feel about the healing power of prayer in my life, but in my vulnerable state she snuck up on me and I couldn’t formulate a response and thus I received the longest and I do mean the longest prayer of all time before going into surgery. I don’t know what denomination that woman was but it was one of the chatty ones that’s for sure, she made certain that jesus knew everything about me and how special I was and how much I needed protection, she left no stone unturned, the lord and I know apparently know each other quite well. As much as I don’t care for being prayed over and don’t anticipate ever having that experience again, she was a very nice lady and thankfully she didn’t offer anymore prayer services the remainder of our time together only more healing things like bananas and chocolate.
One of the other episodes that I found both amusing and humiliating was while they were doing my intake before surgery, they ask you all these questions, most of them just generally health history but they do along with inquiring about blood pressure, diabetes, and mental illness, also inquire as to whether you are wearing one hundred percent cotton panties or not. Mind you when I left my site for Lilongwe I was only anticipating being out for a few days, I did not have the prescience to know I would end up in the hospital in South Africa and therefore I packed really light, so by the time I went in for surgery I had no clean under and thus when asked if I was wearing one hundred percent cotton panties I had to respond with I’m not wearing any panties. Oh bless that poor sweet woman doing my intake she looked horrified and had to ask me again to confirm the awful truth that indeed I had no underwear on. This situation was resolved by her giving a pair of hospital panties. I’m not sure if anyone here has been privy to seeing hospital underwear or if perhaps you’ve had the pleasure of wearing hospital panties but let me tell you it is something else. Very much like a nappy, you know, one of those diaper covers, except large enough that I’m pretty sure if I had pulled it up I could have touched my boobs into it as well. And we all know hospital gowns don’t close well in the back so there was no hiding my saggy diapered back side, oh the shame.
So there I was diapered and ready for action. Unfortunately they had forgotten to put me on the days schedule so I was pushed to the end of a long days queue. This was made more unfortunate by the fact that I had not eaten since nine the previous evening and we all know how I feel about food. When they brought in the lunch trays for everyone but me there was some deep sadness and bitter resentment. I maintained a pretty calm façade through the whole experience, I had the good sense to bring a book so I read The House of Sand and Fog and tried to keep it together which I did until they took me to surgery or as they call it here (maybe they use the same term in the states I’m just not hip to hospital jargon ) theater. When they started wheeling me down the hall I started to feel not so good. Theater is in the basement I believe and if not the actual basement it feels like one. It was a crowded place, like I-84 at 4:00 PM with gurneys, with people in various states of pain and suffering. When they rolled me into that queue of people and dropped me next to the man who I was sure was dying and then started shouting about, wheres she going, Dr. Keer, no shes Prince, wheres Prince, theater seven…….It was a tough and lonely time. They shuttled me down the hall to theater seven where Dr. Prince was just finishing up on the poor bastard he was working on, parked me at the door and said they’ll collect when they finish up and off they went. I don’t know why I felt so sad and afraid but I did. I couldn’t have imagined how bad I would want someone there, I really didn’t think it would be that big of a deal, I mean why should it, minor surgery, in and out, no problem but I had this profound sense of being so alone and wishing it weren’t that way. As much as I wanted to be tough, I’ll level I cried a bit out there in that hallway. Not any noisy sort of crying mind you, not even the tiniest sniffle, but just a few rogue tears leaking out which I tried to subtly wipe away. They got me in and the anesthesiologist asked how I was and all I could say was I didn’t think I’d be so scared. It was a rather cool and blunt dialogue her and I exchanged that was the last thing that I remember before the sweet joy of anesthesia.
Unfeeling Dr. How are you doing?
Emo Megan I didn’t think I’d be this scared (fighting back tears)
Unfeeling Dr. Why are you afraid (condescending and bored look)
Emo Megan I don’t know
More feeling but still pretty unfeeling assistant Breathe into this oxygen mask
Emo Megan Is that going to put me under (eyeing mask warily)
Unfeeling Doctor No but I’m going to give you the anesthetic now do you want to count
Emo Megan I don’t care lets just do this….
And complete and total nothing. Really going under no big deal its amazing how fast it happens and I came to really quickly as well, I didn’t feel particularly disoriented, in fact I felt surprisingly lucid just surprisingly lonely. The nurse who was there when I woke up was really nice, her name was Ruth, which I happen to think is a very nice name. She was real sweet and when I started to cry she was real nice about it. I just came to right away eyes filled with tears and all I could think to say is I wish I wasn’t alone. But I pulled it together pretty quickly, no sobbing or blubbering. And as much as it was no joy it makes me feel pretty strong to know that although there may have been some emo behavior I can get through surgery all by myself with most of my dignity and integrity.
As of now I’ve been out of the hospital about four days I think, my shoulder feels better but it still requires pain meds. I’m supposed to get it immobilized in a sling which I absolutely hate. I refer to it as my T rex arm when I’m wearing the sling, a useless shortened appendage that can barely do anything of value. I do wear the sling just not all the time, take now for example typing with the rex arm not possible and I want to communicate with you all so the rex must be freed. I’m going to check in with the Peace Corps doctor tomorrow and I’ll clarify how important it is or is not that I wear the sling at all times, I’d also like him to give my clavicle the old once over. Its still bandaged so you can’t tell what kind of mysteries are happening but I just want to make sure all feels as it should. I go back to the surgeon to have the stitches and bandage removed on either the 15th or the 17th. There is concern about me being held up here over the holidays if I have to do physical therapy as a lot of staff will be out for Christmas come that late in the month. As I type this I remember this is how I opened my last posting how redundant and yet perfectly full circle of me.
Really all is well, its been a strange last month or so but I feel like this clavicle thing was the final exorcism of whatever bad juju was floating around in my life. I’m hoping that my clavicle heals swiftly and efficiently, I will put on my sling as soon as I’m done typing, I swear and I think I’m just going to take this time here to reflect on how I’ve been feeling and why, eat lots of sushi and icecream, take lots of hot baths, enjoy the pain meds, hope beyond sweetest hope that the 6th harry potter makes to the theater here before I go back, and just try to chill and make the best of it. Peace Corps puts us up at a nice place as much as I know I need to be somewhere else, I can’t, so I might as well be here and not make it harder on myself. I know I said it before but for everyone who checked in on me, thank you, you’re all amazing people and I feel lucky to have you in my life. I love and miss you all, feel free to call and email to your hearts desire as I am completely connected to all forms of technology and have nothing to do for ten days.
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