Let me tell you the story about how The GAP nearly broke my arm. For Your Convenience, this story will be told in reverse-chronological order, with irrelevant pictures thrown in for good measure.
Yesterday evening, I left the emergency ward and went home to try to get some sleep. The doctor, clearly taxed by long, irregular shifts in Québec's notoriously well run hospitals, punctuated his sentences with dramatic yawns as he twisted and contorted my arm in interesting ways, and announced that it is "99.99% probably not broken".
My arm and I were shown to an eye-examination room when our name was finally called.
[photo: Edifice-preference in seagulls and pigeons]
Three and a half hours in an emergency-ward waiting room isn't really so bad, I guess, but there's very little to do. I was able to eat supper awkwardly with my left hand when someone in radiology donated a plastic fork from his lunch. He was recompensed with France's mother's fudge.
My ice pack completely melted. The soaked cloth was dropped to the ground, left in a disused, soggy heap for the cleaning staff to deal with. A cleaning lady failed to take it, assuming it was mine.
Carney and I passed the time by talking about the impossibility of driving from North America to South America, Prince Roy of the Principality of Sealand, and other random fascinating things.
I was given an assortment of loose ice wrapped in a piece of cloth, and instructed to keep it on my arm. As the ice melted, it became evident that no plastic had been included in the construction of this ice pack, and my clothes were becoming very wet.
[photo: Gunnera plant in Stanley Park, Vancouver]
Traffic was unpleasant. The taxi driver wasn't very nice, but I suppose that's his job. He left us somewhere near the emergency ward and drove off without indicating where we might find a door on this cold night. And me without my sweater.
Simon let me borrow his stash of ibuprofen, I threw my sweater into my office, and left work with Carney in tow.
I was still feeling nausea and the pain wasn't abating. Well, it would abate insofar as it was a throbbing pain, but it would always come roaring right back, as throbbing pains are wont to do. It had been close to 45 minutes since I fell, so going to the hospital was starting to make a lot of sense. Certainly more sense than what I was already doing: lying on the couch like a whimpering idiot, trying to listen to my team continue their meeting without me.
[photo: Nikhil's housewarming party]
And back to my meeting. There's work to be done, and I wasn't going to bail out of it like some sort of whimpering idiot.
Immediately I felt a wave of nausea and realized I might have just broken my arm. Nonetheless, I continued up the stairs, as I had business to take care of. All the while I was pondering the subtle, minute motions that individual body parts carry out while you perform routine activities. Have you ever thought about what your arm muscles, bones, and joints are actually doing when you reach over for some cheap office-building single-ply whisper-thin toilet paper? Isn't it (ow) amazing that your brain (ergh) can coordinate these actions without any (yaarrrrkkhl) real conscious effort? You think about these things when they hurt like bananas.
It's too bad I had taken my sweater off. The sleeve's inherent bounciness might have spared me a lot of pain.
Not really paying attention, I started up the stairs to the bathroom, slipped, and began accelerating downwards, just like any other piece of matter hovering near a planet affected by gravity. I broke the fall with my left hand on the stairs, but somehow sent my right arm flailing, causing my ulna to connect with a resounding burst of pain against the unforgiving wrought-iron handrail.
There is nothing worse than squirming in a chair during a meeting because you need to attend to certain biological functions.
Our meeting was being quite productive, and we were finding all kind of interesting problems we'll need to fix before releasing. At some point I started feeling hot and decided to take my sweater off. I guess it doesn't conduct heat very well after all, I thought to myself.
[photo: Seal, Boston Aquarium]
Peter told me he liked my new sweater. Yay! No time to chit chat, though, I was on my way to an important all-day planning session with my group.
F: Hey, your new sweater looks good on you.
F: What's it made of?
me: I don't remember... mainly cotton, some nylon, ... rubber ... aluminum ...
F: Rubber and aluminum.
me: Yeah, it's a really .. light-weight .. alloy. And very bouncy.
F: And does it conduct heat well?
me: Mmm, yes and no.
Oh, coffee. Sweet sweet coffee.
Bluh? Snrt? Awake. Morning. Crap.
[photo: Sutton, Eastern Townships, Québec]
Last weekend I bought a sweater at The GAP. It's green.