Deja Vu

January 31, 1988.

Five months pregnant with my sixth baby.

And playing center for my women’s basketball team in a winter tournament.

We had won both of our games, positioning ourselves for the semi-final the next day.

My slightly pudgy self had even managed a break-away and lay-up.

Only one, but hey . . .!

And in a euphoric haze, Husby and I were heading over to an activity at the church.

Where we’d be playing volleyball.

My team scored a point.

I leaped into the air, kicking one leg and punching both hands upward in triumph.

Then I looked down.

Huh. Somehow, unbeknownst to me, both of my legs had kicked out.

Together.

Weird.

I fell heavily on my right hand.

Ouch.

Back on my feet, I continued to play.

Went up for a spike.

And realized that something was definitely wrong.

Hands aren’t supposed to hurt like that.

Long story short, A quick trip to emergency confirmed my suspicions.

Badly-broken wrist.

Not only had I broken the bottom right off the bone, but my continued playing had then crushed the broken-off piece.

Double ouch.

I won’t describe the process to get everything back where it should be, or the needle from hell.

Suffice it to say, because of an excellent doctor, I was soon on the mend.

Six weeks in a cast.

Moving forward to yesterday . . .

My daughter and I had decided to go snowboarding. I’m always up for something new.

She had just started and loved it!

The conditions weren’t ideal.

It had been warm and snowless for a number of weeks and the only powder was what had been ground up by the resort’s grooming machines.

But we had fun.

I stayed prudently on the bunny hill with several dozen little kids.

Had, after three tries, mastered the rope tow.

I was king of the mountain!

Up the tow.

Down the slope in an ever-increasing need for speed.

Okay, you have to know that the speed I was needing was just slightly faster than a walk.

Yeah. Daring, I’m not.

We decided on one last run.

And that’s when it happened.

A spectacular crash.

And an all-too-familiar ‘weak’ feeling in my right wrist.

Uh-oh.

It’s been 26 years, less four days.

I’m back in the cast again . . .

Sigh.