And I'd like to change that. Starting now, I resolve to make no more lame posts. And I'm done censoring myself. Fuckin' A.
1) I fell on my left arm, pinning it against the funbox, putting almost all of my weight (190 pounds) onto my arm.
This was the absolute worst pain I have ever felt in my life. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy.
Thank God for Morphine. After the shot, things really started to move slower and calm down. Morphine makes you chatty so I talked up the medic who rode in the back. He said he grew up in Bensonhurst. He recommended a couple places to eat in Brooklyn. He held my braced arm so it wouldn't rattle around during turns. He was kind of a hard-ass but, then again, he'd probably seen a lot. I told him my cousin just started nursing. He didn't love the comparison.
"Yeah, well our job is a little different. A nurse gives you post-emergency care. Our job is to make sure you don't die on the way there," he said. "Do you remember the schoolyard shooting in Newark? Yeah, I was first on the scene. We didn't even know about the other three until later."
We were almost there when I asked him about David Lee Roth.
For my first post back, I'm going to write about Jessica Simpson's fupa.
Just kidding.
Since it has almost been a month, I thought it would be cool to describe my account of my arm breaking in half on January 2nd. To put this story in perspective, I should point out three facts: (1) I busted my ass to wake up at 5:30 am, take the subway from Brooklyn to Manhattan, take the port authority bus from Manhattan to Vernon, New Jersey, and have my friend pick up all my shit from Rumson and meet me at the mountain just so I could get a day in at Mountain Creek. Bottom line: a lot of effort. (2) I longboarded around Park Slope and Gowanus without a helmet on pulling dumb shit for about three months before I quit. I stopped specifically so I wouldn't get hurt or run over. (3) I've snowboarded over 30 days in my life; I'm average but that number should tell you I know how to ride safely.
While were at it, here's what my winters have looked like since I started snowboarding with each number representing how many days I've hit the mountain:
Winter 2008: 1 - and done
Winter 2007: 0
Winter 2006: 2 - Mount Snow in Vermont
Winter 2005: 2 - Mountain Creek
Winter 2004: 25 - a mix of Mountain Creek and 3 shitty "mountains" in southern Pennsylvania
Winter 2003: 3 - Mountain Creek
On the last run of the day, I fell going (what felt like 15-20 mph) over a funbox:
It was barely a few feet off the ground and seemingly not that dangerous (this wasn't in the terrain park). I rode over one right before the one I fell on. I had to make a wide turn to hit the latter. I was going so fast, though, that I started to lose my balance halfway over it and slip off. When you're sliding over a box, the steel of the board is only contacting the metal of the box. There is no way of using your edges of your board to stop. You either ride off or you fall off. I did the latter.
Either one of two things happened when I bit it:
1) I fell on my left arm, pinning it against the funbox, putting almost all of my weight (190 pounds) onto my arm.
2) I planted my left arm straight into the ground, once again putting the majority of my weight on my arm.
My friend who was with me and I both think the first scenario occurred, although it's impossible to know. Either way, my arm snapped in half instantaneously.
This was the absolute worst pain I have ever felt in my life. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy.
What sucked the most was that my arm was snapped and dangling around before I was done falling and rolling over. I almost puked as soon as it happened. I remember there being a bloody/irony taste in my mouth (even though I wasn't bleeding) and it being really difficult to breathe.
Ski patrol showed up within five minutes. My buddy pulled off my helmet and loosened the bandana and gator off of my face so I could breathe a little easier. It took another five minutes or so to get my arm in a tolerable position. After I was strapped down, I asked the patrol what to yell if I wanted him to stop.
"Nardyarbel. I'm not stopping unless you say Nardyarbel you little pussy."
?
Ok that didn't happen.
"Just yell stop and I'll stop," he said.
Roger that.
Since where I fell wasn't that far from the bottom, it was probably only a two minute ride. About halfway down he hit a small bump which caused the sled to leave the ground ever so slightly, knocking my arm out of position, causing the two broken ends of my humerus to rub together in my arm.
"STOP. STOP. FUCKING STOP!" I screamed.
"Sorry kid. We're almost there," he said.
What the -
Right there I realized that he didn't intend to stop no matter what the fuck I yelled. Nor do I think ski patrols ever stop when their patient/load start complaining. Otherwise, they would never make it down.
I would have not been as angry had his skis not been shooting snow into my face while I was trying to keep my snapped arm in place. The sensation I felt was equivalent to being dragged face first through the snow for 40 seconds. In hindsight, this probably kept me from going into shock.
Once we reached the bottom of the mountain, ski patrol got me off the stretcher to a seated position on one of the hospital beds in the first-aid station shed. From they're they started to cut my jacket and sweatshirt off. This was all a blur but I remember a few things.
They loved the fact that I could wiggle my fingers, which meant no immediate nerve damage. But whenever they tried to get close to my arm, I'd start hollering.
"This guy's clearly a 10/10 on the pain scale. We're gonna need a helicopter," said a female nurse.
For some reason I started panicking, asking if they were going to have to amputate. I don't know why but I kept asking to no avail. Nobody would answer me, which made me start to panic even more. It didn't help when the nurse speculated that I had a triple break - two breaks above my elbow and one below in the forearm area.
Around this time, the nurse asked me the worst question I've ever been asked.
"Kevin do you feel wet anywhere?" she asked.
I knew exactly what she meant. This was her way of asking if any of my bones had poked through my skin, causing there to be blood. I quickly felt around my left arm, which still had all my layers on (while the rest of my upper body had nothing on). Nothing. No blood.
After asking a third time about amputation, one of the male nurses answered me.
"Naw man you're gonna be fine," he said with a comforting smile. "I've shattered my knee three times and I'm fine."
This calmed me down. (And if I sound paranoid or melodramatic, do a Google search on bad breaks in the snow. There are some nasty videos out there with horrible results. See: Matthias Lanzinger. I warn you: his fall is nauseating. Take my word for it. I guess all I'm saying is that even though it was a silly question, my fears were valid.)
I guess there's some irony in the fact that my older brother executive produces a show on TruTv right now called Ski Patrol. I asked the ski patrol guys if they'd heard of it while they were cutting me out of my jacket. They groaned.
"That show is terrible," one of them said.
I don't blame them. It isn't very good.
"That show is terrible," one of them said.
I don't blame them. It isn't very good.
Finally, after futzing around for another 15 minutes the various first-aid workers were able to cut the rest of my clothes off my arm and support it with a wooden brace. Soon after, the ambulance rolled up with two paramedics. I decided to fuck with them when they walked in.
"Bill. Darren," I said, as I head-nodded in their direction, pretending to know them.
It was that moment I decided to try and laugh my way through the situation. I was able to joke because I knew the paramedics had Morphine. They dosed me soon after and were able to look a little closer at my arm. After ruling out the need for a heli, I got the standard ambulance ride to Newton Memorial Hospital.
Thank God for Morphine. After the shot, things really started to move slower and calm down. Morphine makes you chatty so I talked up the medic who rode in the back. He said he grew up in Bensonhurst. He recommended a couple places to eat in Brooklyn. He held my braced arm so it wouldn't rattle around during turns. He was kind of a hard-ass but, then again, he'd probably seen a lot. I told him my cousin just started nursing. He didn't love the comparison.
"Yeah, well our job is a little different. A nurse gives you post-emergency care. Our job is to make sure you don't die on the way there," he said. "Do you remember the schoolyard shooting in Newark? Yeah, I was first on the scene. We didn't even know about the other three until later."
After a few moments I asked him, "Hey has anyone ever told you that you look just like Ken Caminiti?"
"Yeah my wife said that once," he answered. "He's dead now."
Ooooooo-kay. Terrific.
I asked for another shot of Morphine. About ten minutes later he was able to give it to me. Apparently, the paramedics have to request painkilling shots via phone. The doctor in the ER then determines if a patient en route is able to receive any. The paramedics just can't dole it out as they see fit.
I asked for another shot of Morphine. About ten minutes later he was able to give it to me. Apparently, the paramedics have to request painkilling shots via phone. The doctor in the ER then determines if a patient en route is able to receive any. The paramedics just can't dole it out as they see fit.
We were almost there when I asked him about David Lee Roth.
"I heard he became an EMS for a few years. Is that true?" I asked.
"Yeah one of my buddies worked with him in Brooklyn. He liked to keep to himself. Said he was good, " he said. "He knew his stuff real well too."
Once we reached the ER, I got wheeled out the back on the gurney.
"Just so you know, whenever I see ambulances, I pull over," I said. "How come it seems like nobody else does? Why is that?"
"Because you're not an asshole," one of them replied.
I spent the rest of the afternoon and evening at Newton Memorial Hospital. My humerus bones were in two pieces, clicking and rubbing each other on and off for seven hours or so.
After I first got placed into the ER, I asked for a third shot of morphine. Instead, they gave me a shot of Demerol (which is stronger than Morphine). Demerol messes you up. It got me real stoned. I recall being sleepy and babbling, trying very hard to make sense to my friend.
I probably wouldn't have gotten through the day had my buddy and his little brother not been there. Nor would I have been able to get my painkillers after we left the hospital had it not been for my friend's wife. It's a very good feeling to have friends with you during shitty situations. It makes all the difference in the world.
Overall, the hospital gave very good medical care. Except when a nurse came in to take blood. I remember her having this very flat, miserable look on her face. I was distracted when she came in because I was on the phone telling my dad what happened. She proceeded to pick up my broken arm to look for a vein. I started screaming like this at 0:03. I immediately dropped the phone. My friend and his little brother couldn't believe it. I looked over at them like, "What the fuck?"
What blew me away was that she wasn't even apologetic.
"You should have told me which arm it was," she said.
As much as I wanted to, I didn't yell at her or make a stink about it. If a person is that bad at their job and doesn't care, they will eventually get theirs.
X-rays were an absolute bitch because it was very hard to maneuver and the technicians weren't very good. But we worked together and got the pictures taken, thanks in large part to another shot of Demerol. When the doctor came in, he gave me my options:
(1) He would reset (realign) the bone, so that it would grow back together.
(2) He would perform surgery and insert a metal rod through my shoulder down to the elbow.
We picked option one, which is the conservative approach. Since I'm young and healthy, there is no reason why my bones shouldn't heal. Plus, with the second option, there is an increased risk of nerve damage, which can lead to a limp wrist, etc.
In examining my arm closely, the doctor had to feel around and in doing so, my bones got out of whack, which was nearly unbearable. I started begging for Morphine or Demerol, but they decided to put me under immediately. For the next ten minutes while they prepped, the pain was horrible. I remember slamming my legs up and down into the gurney as they wheeled me in it hurt so badly.
My ordeal was finally over once they gave me anesthesia, intubated me and reset the bone around 10 pm. I think one thing I'll take from this experience I'm most proud of was that I didn't lose it once during this day. Sure, it's okay to cry. But I wanted this to be a story I could proudly tell my kids someday, about how you can be tough during fucked up situations.
In the past month, I've done a lot of reflecting. I could have landed much worse and been paralyzed or killed. Shit happens in the blink of an eye. I'm a very lucky guy.
Today I just got a report from my doc that my bones are starting to calcify, which means they are beginning to heal together. While I'm still months away from being back to normal, things are on track for a full recovery.
It wasn't until two weeks ago that I was able to watch snowboarding again on Fuse. I was recently watching a snowboarder huck himself off a mountain and nearly ruin his knee. I've come to this realization: You can be a guy doing back flips and 1080's or be on the bunny slope when something goes wrong. What separates the two from being on the ground whimpering in pain? Nothing. Nobody cares what tricks you were doing. You're done.
While I'm not going to start living my life any differently, I do appreciate things a little more. Nonetheless, unless I'm in the Midwest and can ride in powder, I'll probably stick to surfing from now on.
I'll end with this video. I think it's very well done. It really captures the emotions and spirit of what we go through for the love of these sports/ways of life. I love the shots of Kelly in there too.
Keep your eyes peeled for my Percocet-influenced rankings of all the flicks I've been watching while laid up.
"Yeah one of my buddies worked with him in Brooklyn. He liked to keep to himself. Said he was good, " he said. "He knew his stuff real well too."
Once we reached the ER, I got wheeled out the back on the gurney.
"Just so you know, whenever I see ambulances, I pull over," I said. "How come it seems like nobody else does? Why is that?"
"Because you're not an asshole," one of them replied.
I spent the rest of the afternoon and evening at Newton Memorial Hospital. My humerus bones were in two pieces, clicking and rubbing each other on and off for seven hours or so.
After I first got placed into the ER, I asked for a third shot of morphine. Instead, they gave me a shot of Demerol (which is stronger than Morphine). Demerol messes you up. It got me real stoned. I recall being sleepy and babbling, trying very hard to make sense to my friend.
I probably wouldn't have gotten through the day had my buddy and his little brother not been there. Nor would I have been able to get my painkillers after we left the hospital had it not been for my friend's wife. It's a very good feeling to have friends with you during shitty situations. It makes all the difference in the world.
Overall, the hospital gave very good medical care. Except when a nurse came in to take blood. I remember her having this very flat, miserable look on her face. I was distracted when she came in because I was on the phone telling my dad what happened. She proceeded to pick up my broken arm to look for a vein. I started screaming like this at 0:03. I immediately dropped the phone. My friend and his little brother couldn't believe it. I looked over at them like, "What the fuck?"
What blew me away was that she wasn't even apologetic.
"You should have told me which arm it was," she said.
As much as I wanted to, I didn't yell at her or make a stink about it. If a person is that bad at their job and doesn't care, they will eventually get theirs.
X-rays were an absolute bitch because it was very hard to maneuver and the technicians weren't very good. But we worked together and got the pictures taken, thanks in large part to another shot of Demerol. When the doctor came in, he gave me my options:
(1) He would reset (realign) the bone, so that it would grow back together.
(2) He would perform surgery and insert a metal rod through my shoulder down to the elbow.
We picked option one, which is the conservative approach. Since I'm young and healthy, there is no reason why my bones shouldn't heal. Plus, with the second option, there is an increased risk of nerve damage, which can lead to a limp wrist, etc.
In examining my arm closely, the doctor had to feel around and in doing so, my bones got out of whack, which was nearly unbearable. I started begging for Morphine or Demerol, but they decided to put me under immediately. For the next ten minutes while they prepped, the pain was horrible. I remember slamming my legs up and down into the gurney as they wheeled me in it hurt so badly.
My ordeal was finally over once they gave me anesthesia, intubated me and reset the bone around 10 pm. I think one thing I'll take from this experience I'm most proud of was that I didn't lose it once during this day. Sure, it's okay to cry. But I wanted this to be a story I could proudly tell my kids someday, about how you can be tough during fucked up situations.
In the past month, I've done a lot of reflecting. I could have landed much worse and been paralyzed or killed. Shit happens in the blink of an eye. I'm a very lucky guy.
Today I just got a report from my doc that my bones are starting to calcify, which means they are beginning to heal together. While I'm still months away from being back to normal, things are on track for a full recovery.
It wasn't until two weeks ago that I was able to watch snowboarding again on Fuse. I was recently watching a snowboarder huck himself off a mountain and nearly ruin his knee. I've come to this realization: You can be a guy doing back flips and 1080's or be on the bunny slope when something goes wrong. What separates the two from being on the ground whimpering in pain? Nothing. Nobody cares what tricks you were doing. You're done.
While I'm not going to start living my life any differently, I do appreciate things a little more. Nonetheless, unless I'm in the Midwest and can ride in powder, I'll probably stick to surfing from now on.
I'll end with this video. I think it's very well done. It really captures the emotions and spirit of what we go through for the love of these sports/ways of life. I love the shots of Kelly in there too.
Keep your eyes peeled for my Percocet-influenced rankings of all the flicks I've been watching while laid up.
