I Broke My Elbow

August 11, 2012

Over cocktails at my apartment.

Leila: (My dainty British friend, shaking her head in disbelief)
Jean, I still cannot believe you broke your arm. 
Molly:
Hahaha! I can.
Leila:
Actually, I'm quite surprised you made it this long. I would have thought you'd have wound up in the emergency room a few times by now. 
....................................................................................

A long, emotional road led to my broken elbow, dating back to early June when I decided to surprise my boyfriend Andrew with a new bicycle for his birthday. I ordered the perfect bicycle, guaranteed to arrive before July. Days before Andrew's birthday, an email informed me the bicycle would arrive late. 

This email marked the first of probably 17 (but likely closer to 25) times I cried over the bicycle. After pleading emails and phone calls with the bicycle company, screaming matches on the FedEx customer service hotline, crying in a FedEx store and at least ten arm-flailing rants of distress to my roommates, Andrew finally received his bicycle August 2nd. Almost a full month after his birthday.

Friday, August 3rd, we set out for happy hour, riding through the sun on our not-too-matchy-matchy matching fixed-gear bicycles, smiling in our vintage Rays Bans as our hair blew in the summer breeze. I believe we both wore denim cutoff shorts as well. It truly was a beautiful vision of young love. The glory of our ride redeemed the long wait for his bicycle. We turned right onto Grand Street, planning to stop at one of our favorite local bars, BCC. 

The ride was too glorious to stop and I came up with a plan better than BCC. "Andrew! Let's keep going, just follow me!" I sped down Grand Street toward Alligator Lounge, where we could get free pizza.

I hadn't biked in the city in over a year, but that is no excuse for what happened next. I blame my complete incompetence of properly operating or directing any moving object, including, but not limited to: cars, bicycles and my own body. 

A green light glistened ahead at the intersection of  Grand Street and Manhattan Avenue. I checked for cars coming toward us and began turning left, heading toward Metropolitan Avenue. Then out of nowhere, a cab hit me. I suppose I should have checked for cars coming from behind. I looked up at Andrew in horror as the cab sped away. Every other driver and pedestrian paused to gawk at me lying on the ground, under a bicycle, in the middle of Grand Street. I looked like a complete doofus. I didn't care about myself. I've ruined too many things to waste time concerning myself with personal well-being. I cared about the bike and Andrew having fun. Once I realized the bike was okay, I sprung up, grabbed the bike and scurried half a block away, escaping the crowd of humiliation. 

My arm hurt, but I figured it was just a tiny sprain. Refusing to allow my mistake to ruin this bike ride, I hopped on my bike, ready to go. A sharp pain shot through my left arm once I touched the handle bar, but I couldn't let myself ruin Andrew's bike ride. I played it off for twenty minutes before admitting I needed to go home.

I vowed to suppress tears until inside my apartment. I only needed to maintain the appearance of a normal, mature adult until I got home. Once inside the privacy of my apartment, I could call my brother James and tearfully share the traumatic story. As we neared my apartment, I remembered James was at a concert with my sister-in-law Nicole.

In the past, my emotional moments often aligned with James' special occasions. As a child, I unintentionally humiliated teenage James by sharing our code names for different types of hugs. I distracted my parents with girlish whining during most James' soccer tournaments. I interfered with his social life because I preferred him over other babysitters. I'm pretty sure I threw a fit before his high school graduation because I loathed my dress. I didn't let him forget how cool his friends thought Grown-up Jean was during his wedding reception. I allowed him and Nicole to console me about boy problems on the phone during their honeymoon in Hawaii. James even solved a trivial argument I had with our brother, while we were in Florida and James was in New York, taking Nicole to the hospital... to give birth to their first son. After 25 years of torture, it was time to stop ruining James' life. The truth hurt my heart more than the speedy cab hurt my arm. I rode the final block to my apartment shamelessly sobbing because I could not call my big brother and cry to him.

Andrew took this photo & secretly sent it to James so he would call me after the concert. 

When we got in, Andrew calmed me down, gave me ice and ran out for ice packs and bandages. I sat on the couch, icing my arm, thinking about how Andrew finally got his present and I managed to ruin it even more by getting hit by a cab. I decided to stop being a baby and whip up a surprise dinner. An atonement of sorts for continuously ruining Andrew's chance of bicycle happiness.

Thanks to the numbing effects of ice and vodka, I managed to single-handedly (literally), prepare a ham and pineapple entree with a side of homemade broccoli bacon macaroni and cheese. I grabbed a large pan filled with soapy water, so I could wash it before dining. The instant I picked up the pan with my left arm, the entire contents poured out like a waterfall, drenching the kitchen floor. The giant pan loudly crashed into the sea of soapy water. Apparently, my left arm was injured. 

I screamed in pain, then told Andrew I did it purposely so we could use the soapy water to mop the floor. We cleaned the mess, ate our dinner, had some cocktails over a few episodes of X-Files and enjoyed a relatively nice Friday evening. A few hours later, the ice melted and the vodka buzz wore off, drawing attention to the excruciating pain in my arm. Around midnight, I woke my mother Wendy with a phone call, and as any model daughter would do, I informed her I fell off my bicycle earlier in the day and could not bend my arm. Wendy was incredibly pleased with this one.

After the doctor, Andrew & I stopped at a cafe. 
He ate pizza whilst I drank a white wine lunch.
I had to make the most of things.

Because I am terrified of hospitals and all the crazy crackheads who frequent them late at night, I delayed seeking medical attention until the next morning when I could go to an urgent care doctor. About 15 hours after colliding with the speedy cab, the doctor told me I suffered a radial head fracture on my elbow. He put my arm in a cast, strapped a sling on me and sent me back out to share my humiliating story.

Looking back three weeks later, I wonder if it was actually the pan of soapy water that ultimately caused the hairline fracture. Had I not been so determined to prepare a ham dinner, would my arm be in a sling right now? I suppose it is a mystery.

Perhaps I should have gone straight to the hospital after the collision. Perhaps the stress of lifting a heavy pan multiplied a minor injury and caused the fracture. Perhaps I should have let Andrew take the lead during our bicycle ride. Perhaps multiple car accidents should have taught me to pay attention to the road. Perhaps if I resisted my hunger pains for free pizza and followed our original plan to stop at BCC, I wouldn't have crossed paths with the cab. Perhaps I should just stay in my apartment and avoid interacting with the outer world. The list of "should haves" runs endlessly, but I try not to think  like that. If I did, I would probably hate myself a lot more.