Left Wrist

The date was November 27, 1995. The place, the indoor sports centre that was located on the outskirts of Tamworth, not far from the high school I attended, Peel High. I was playing for an indoor soccer team at the time who were sponsored by Bonnie and Clyde, a local hairdressers. (Incidentally, I never got my hair cut there the entire time I spent in Tamworth.) The game had started badly for us, and we were soon trailing by three goals. Not long after I had made it onto the pitch, I inadvertently increased the lead for our opponents. It was a simple pass back to the goalkeeper (the team captain's son) andmuch to my disbelief, for some reason he had missed it completely.

So, after the break, a change of keeper, with me in the nets (where I had spent a fair percentage of my soccer career) and things hardly improved. Mid-way through the second half, an opponent was coming in from my left, and hammered in what was quite possibly the fastest shot I had ever tried to stop down low to my left. My left hand caught the full brunt of it, bending it back past 90 degrees. I distinctly heard a sharp “crack” and dropped to the floor, clutching at my wrist. I was swearing repeatedly as I walked off the field (the four letter word starting with “s” I do believe) and watching the rest of the game, whilst waiting for me dad to turn up, was quite painful and unbearable. The result was no better, we had lost 9 – 4.

My father did not feel that I had done anything serious to the wrist. I put an ice-pack on it before I went to bed that night and hoped that he was right. The next morning the wrist had swollen up and it was still quite painful. I had just started a work experience trial at the West Tamworth Leagues Club, and was looking forward to going in, but it wasn't going to happen, so I ended up at outpatients instead around 7.30am. The hospital staff didn't think there was much wrong either, and seeing I had turned up on a relatively busy morning, I wasn't going to be treated in a hurry.

When they took an x-ray though, their attitude changed completely. The diagnosis was definitely “broken wrist” and they made arrangements to get a plaster on it. I called the club and informed the secretary, a confident young lass by the name of Susan, that I couldn't make it in that morning and explained to her what had happened.

“Did you stop the shot?” she asked.

“Yes,” I responded.

“Well that's something. Call in once you're done.”

I turned up a few hours later, my arm in a half plaster (I think it's called a Colles plaster), and a sick note from the hospital. The secretary took care of everything. She came back out, after squaring it with the course supervisor on the phone that I was to have the rest of the week off.

During the week I saw the family doctor. The official verdict was “minimally displaced radial styloid” a medical way of saying “hairline fracture”. A few weeks later I return to the hospital for my scheduled appointment to get the half-cast off. This time, seeing I had made an appointment, I was seen ahead of the rest of those waiting in the plaster surgery. I was treated by an female intern, who was quite charming, and somehow we ended up talking about Blackadder. I'm pretty certain I asked her out for a drink, but she didn't take me up on the offer. She told me that the bones hadn't set properly, and that I had to have a full cast on the wrist this time and I was to have my hand in a position as if I was shaking hands, which was quite awkward. She did a superb job on the cast, and was so proud of the effort she escorted me around showing it off to some of the other staff.

Back at the Leagues Club, well, I did get a lot of sympathy from the staff, but not the club's boss, who had me working in the dining room. Do you know just how hard it is to get a plastic glove over the cast to make sure bits don't fall off into people's food? Balancing a tray on it was pretty tricky as well. This arrangement didn't last long. I was back on the front desk within a couple of days.   

As for living with a cast, keeping it dry in the shower was a hard thing to do but I somehow managed. Then there was the warm weather we were experiencing that summer and sleeping was quite awkward as well.

I was quite relieved to get the cast off, and I had hoped see that intern there on my return to the plaster ward. But alas, she was no longer there. Pity.