pull my finger

On Saturday I was climbing in the ice park in Ouray and ended up breaking my hand due to another climber's incompetence. Here's what happened...

I was at the bottom of the upper bridge routes Seamstress and Tic Tac. They are located in a narrow area of the canyon which has a river running through it, meaning the belay ledges are pretty narrow. I should also mention the temps had been up and down so the ice was spindly and sublimated.

So this guy I'll call fuck nut (his real name is Todd), who had been spewing to me before rapping down on our rope, decided to climb a section of WI3 before hitting the rock section of tic tac. There was a ledge at the base of the rock section so I'm not sure why he lowered all the way down on the route. Then he got to the rock section and realized it was going to be a lot harder to lead than the WI3 he just climbed.

So he decided to traverse right to an ice curtain directly above me. It was dangerous and stupid. First, because of the length of the traverse, he would have had a twenty foot swing if he had fallen. Second, you don't climb above someone who can't get out of the way of your ice, especially if she has a reputation for ripping people's heads off.

At first he was just knocking thin icicles on me. It was annoying. Then he somehow dislodged a piece of ice the size of a small country and didn't even bother to yell. I felt it whiz past my face*. Oh good, it didn't hit me, I thought. Then I looked down and saw a geyser spewing out of my hand at my pointer finger and middle finger.

By the time my partner lowered off my finger looked like a mail order tee pee in purple and green. I tried to grab an ax to climb out of the gorge but couldn't close my hand. FN's partner kept apologizing to me. Two of the guides with clients in the vicinity looked at my hand. One didn't say anything and the other one just said "shit". Ah, but the fun was just starting.

By the time we got home my hand looked like a baseball that was left in the gutter for three seasons. Es called the emergency room in Montrose, an hour away from Ouray. They wouldn't see me without doctor's orders. The on call doctor at my primary care physician's office finally wrote me a script. I went up to Trose the next day to get x-rays. I had to wait 30 minutes. They said they were really busy even though there were only 2 of us in the waiting room and neither of us was gun shot. Then they made me go into the chapel while they wheeled an x ray machine to me. They took three x-rays and said see ya. No cast, no x ray results, no nothing except an offer for drugs for the pain.

The next day Es called the doctor's office while I was in the shower. They had not received an x ray report from Trose hospital. Chaos ensued. Turns out Trose did not have an ortho on staff and the radiologist had gone home early on sunday without reading my x ray because she was sick. I had to head back to Denver. Again, no treatment for my hand but an offer for drugs. My head was about to exlode, especially as I sat in traffic for 9 hours with my hand costuming itself as the goodyear blimp in black.

I found out my hand was broken Monday night but couldn't get in to see a doctor before my flight to DC. The flight sucked and the change in air pressure caused patches of fluid in my hand. Pipes thought it was cool but the stewardess almost puked when I showed m hand to her in an attempt to get ice. She offered me a pain killer but didn't have ice.

I finally got an appointment today, 4 days after the accident, to see a hand specialist. apparently any idiot can't put a cast on, they have to be an idiot working for an ortho. I got to the office early morning only to find out their x ray machine was down, Trose wouldn't send my x-ray report until 10 am, and that the doc could do nothing for me. I had a laughing fit that scared the office enough that they called another doctor's office so I could get x rays. I have a fracture in the middle of my hand, two broken knuckles, and a broken pointer finger (Trin, I can get you the report & xrays if you want them - let me know, already arranged for them to be faxed). A guy named Gabe re-broke my pointer finger to realign it. The re-break sounded like a tire running over a bottle on a gravel drive. No, they didn't give me any painkillers. I got instead this ridiculous long splint that goes from my wrist to an inch after my finger stops. I was also again offered drugs. I asked the doctor 'can't I control the pain with icing and movement?' and she looked at me and said, in a tone that implied I had suggested giving up my blackberry, 'yes, but a drug is faster'.

Ah, the american way. Only a specialist can cast me, but everyone can give me drugs...

*quote from my dad when I told him about the accident - "At least it didn't hit your face. You can't really afford to break any more bones in your face."

Pipes and ryebread

I met the coolest kid on the plane ride out to DC. Her name is Piper and the first thing I noticed about her was her sparkly pink shoes. I asked her where she got them and she said "An air conditioner fell on me and I was in the hospital". That is the best thing anyone has ever said to me on a plane.

Pipe's mom used to be a professional trapeze artist (she now works for State dept.) and Pipes decided to rig a "trapeze" (bath towel) over an 80 pound air conditioner. Needless to say at first swing the thing fell off the wall and crushed her chest. She was in the hospital for 4 days and then had to wait another 2 days to be able to fly (on a plane this time). The injury did not slow her down any. First she made cards for the pilots. Then she made cards for the stewardesses. Then she wanted to see my broken hand. As we were deplaning she was showing me how she could jump (almost concusssing some surrounding passengers) and her mom told her to chill out. Pipes said "I haven't been able to work out for 6 days, so I have to get some exercise right now!"

Hopefully she will have a full recovery. She belly flopped onto my legs a few times which scared me but seemed to be fine for her.

Also, I ran into an old climbing pal named Ryan (aka ryebread, his Jewish name) in DIA. It was great to see him again and hopefully I talked him into moving to Denver so we can climb together. He coaches kids in competitive climbing and placed 10 of them in Nationals. Go Ryebread!