I flew through the air, my ski poles windmilling. What have I done? I flat landed on the landing jump and slid to the bottom. Unbelievable. Instead of rolling over the big round easy jump, I had inadvertently hit the psycho extreme jump. My head and shoulder hurt, and both feet. Please not the right foot. The foot with twelve screws, a wire and plate in it.
I tottered to upright and things improved- except the left foot. It smashed the landing pretty hard. In a classic demonstration of denial, I skied another half dozen runs, hoping it would loosen up. Instead it heated up.
I've broken quite a few bones, so I knew better than to rush to an xray. Honest. Often a break won't appear for awhile. So I limped home and soaked it, muttering, "Please don't be broke," over and over. I'm a positive attitude kind of guy, but lost the mental game in a big way that night. Tossing and turning, I went through the mantra; What if it's broke? I can't do crutches and cast in the snow. What if it needs surgery? How could we leave here? Where could we stay? And on and on.
We took a trip to the local doctor's office in Parawan, and what a motivator to move to a small town. Colleen the nurse remembered Quilter Girl from a few visits, months ago. People knew one another, sharing stories in the waiting room. Colleen helped a lady take her twins to the car.
Meanwhile, I filled out the clipboard, answered 'no' to everything, got weighed, pulse and blood pressure, and soon the doctor came in (Dave) and looked me over. No swelling, no bruising, two signs of a break. Off I went to the photo booth for an xray.
No breaks. Ligament damage, wrap the foot good, wear a stiff boot, and 7-10 days I should be good as new.
Phew. Thank the Lord.
Quilter Girl still thinks there's some pretty good brain damage.