This One Time I Broke My Little Arm

In October of 2008, I broke my left arm.

In retrospect, it’s a good thing I broke that one.  At the time, though, I didn’t think it was such a good thing.

Over the next several posts I’d like to share what I remember about that night and what I learned from the experience.  This first one I wrote in the weeks after surgery, while recovering.  Basically a journal entry.  Oh, and be warned…the pictures are kind of gross.

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“F***!”  A pastor’s not supposed to say that, so I apologized to my friend Geoff who heard me.  “It’s cool, dude.”  But, it was not cool…dude.  Seconds before, my feet failed me and I fell down three slick steps onto the pavement.  As a result, I was doing that guy thing where you wander around, moaning and groaning and trying to make yourself think everything’s, well, cool.  While walking across the yard, I felt my left arm.  Apparently that’s what I landed on.  My elbow felt like mush and there was something sticking out where it normally wouldn’t.  “Geoff, you gotta take me to the hospital,” I said.  And he did.

I was so drugged-up, I’m surprised I thought of taking this picture with my phone.

After about two hours in the ER, I got the bad news.  “Ryan,” the doctor said, “You didn’t just break your arm.  You broke the HELL out of it!”  He actually seemed somewhat excited and started drawing on the whiteboard in the room, diagramming my shattered elbow and split humerus.

That doesn’t go there.

The unique wrinkle in all of this is that my left arm, the broken arm, ends just past the elbow.  I was born that way.  I grew up that way.  And unless I experience a miraculous “healing,” I’ll live the rest of my life that way.  I have no problem with that.  But when he was describing the severity of my injuries, I got really scared.  When he told me he wanted me to meet with the orthopedic surgeon the next day to “discuss the options,” I immediately asked, “Do you mean…amputation?”  This coming from someone whose arm is already amputated (congenitally).  Thankfully, amputation was not in the cards, but everything would be different now.  Right?

The surgery was successful, but the next two and a half weeks were a drugged-up blur.  I felt like I wasn’t accomplishing anything, even though everybody said that recovery itself is accomplishing something.  It was hard to convince myself that that was true.  I had two weeks off of work!  I could have done anything!  At least that’s how I felt.  But every time I opened a book to read, my eyes would close.  Every single thing was exhausting.  I still struggle a little bit with those two weeks, wondering if I could have done more.

I warned you! You gotta admit, that’s pretty hardcore.

Another thing that’s been really hard about all this is that it’s made me even more fearful than I already was.  For example, during the first week of recovery Julie took the kids out to run some errands.  Normal.  At some point I called her and got her voicemail.  I tried again.  Voicemail.  Again…voicemail.  Panic.  Obviously something happened!  Something bad, just like what happened to me!  My heart was racing, as was my mind, but faster.  Were they in an accident?!  It only takes a split second!  I’m living proof of that!  I dialed again.  “Hello?”  “Are you ok??  Why didn’t you answer??”  “Relax,” she said, “We’re fine.  My phone was in my purse on vibrate.”  Then, nearly through tears, I explained how everything’s different.

I don’t like that.  What’s worse is that I know I have nothing to fear.  Let me rephrase: theoretically, I know I have nothing to fear.  Why is it so difficult to believe?  Why am I so afraid of money and being transparent and living with integrity and taking risks and failure and physical harm to me and my family and missing opportunities and being perceived incorrectly and not being liked and having too much to read and not being healthy enough and my job…it’s never ending.

I met with my friend Scott for coffee and he said, “I come from a family of worriers.  I try to look at my anxiety and fear as gauges of my belief.  If I’m that scared, do I really believe that God will be faithful in that situation?”  I think that’s a great way to look at it.  I also think I have a long way to go in trusting in God’s faithfulness to me.  I want to believe 2 Timothy 1:7, “For God did not give us a spirit of timidity (of cowardice, of craven and cringing and fawning fear), but [He has given us a spirit] of power and of love and of calm and well-balanced mind and discipline and self-control. (Amplified)”

Sometimes I feel like I’m making too much out of all this.  Lots of people have accidents and surgeries.  Am I being too dramatic?  How can I know?  And how do I know if I’m processing this all correctly?  See?  Stupid fear creeping in again.

I also feel like I should be more motivated; more excited about life.  I should be taking it by the neck and swinging it around like a rag doll.  I should be setting goals and breaking down the barriers to victory.  I should be doing all the things I know I should be doing…but I’m not.  My actions have basically stayed the same.  In fact, if anything it seems that I want to stay in these doldrums.  Today a friend asked me, “How ya doin’” as she nodded toward my arm.  My response?  “Ehhh…ok, I guess.”  Shouldn’t I say, “Every day things are getting better.  I can’t believe how blessed I am to have been able to have surgery to repair my arm and to have incredible friends and family that loved and cared for me through all this.  Sure, my arm will never be the same as it was, but I’m looking forward to the challenge of learning to thrive with it!”

Even writing that is embarrassing.  It’s not me.  Yet.  I’m still scared and angry and sad sometimes.  How will I play piano now?  How will I carry boxes?  Is everything healing correctly?  Should I be doing anything more or less to help?  Just how different will it all be?

Seven screws and a piece of metal. Thanks, doc!

To be honest, given time, it might all go back to normal.  Who knows.

In the meantime, I’m learning.  Learning how to recover, how to cope, how to hope, how to trust, how to process, how to move forward…I need to.  I have to.

I will.

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So…it’s been over three years since the accident.  In my next post I’ll look back and tell more of the post-recovery story and share what I learned from it all.

Related posts:

I Got A Flu Shot And My Arm Fell Off What Do My Own Kids Think About My Arm? Was Sarah Herron Really Born With Only One Arm? Lady Gaga And Her Prosthetic Arm I Faced My Fear And It Was Awesome