THE INNER WORKINGS...

the case of the unbroken clavicle

This is a story that just had to be written. And the best part about this tale is that it's true! It's like your favorite movie that just became ten times better because there's a little paragraph right before the credits telling you what happened to the protagonist after the recorded events. In this situation, it would read something like: "Taylor Ann Overstreet continues to serve with Campus Crusade for Christ in La Plata, Argentina. And she still feels a connection with those unfortunate souls who wear arm slings."

It all started about a month ago when my two roommates (along with some other friends) where playing a mean game of basketball. Perhaps it wasn't "mean", but violence did ensue, and since I wasn't there to be able to testify otherwise, we'll just have to assume it was indeed a "mean" game. (Plus, it adds a little drama to the story.) So there they were, dribbling and shooting the oversized orange ball, and in a moment of athletic passion, my afore mentioned roommates collided in what would turn out to be a fateful moment in the life of dear Taylor. It is said that a loud cracking noise was heard around the campo de deportes as Sarah and Tay butted shoulders.

The following hours were spent holding large chunks of ice near Tay's shoulder. The hours turned into a day, and soon our dear little friend couldn't really move her arm. This of course, as immobile appendages often do, raised alarm. So Taylor did what anyone in Argentina would do in this situation... she went to the public hospital.

Accompanied by her "translator" Irina, Tay had various x-rays taken of the region in question. Although I wasn't there, I image the scene went something like this: The doctor pensively looks at the recently developed x-rays, holding them up to the light, occasionally muttering a sufficiently concerned "mmm...". He then looks at Taylor and says both loudly and slowly (because people always talk both loudly and slowly when they think you won't understand what they're saying), "Sabes que significa 'roto'?". Taylor, startled, nods her head "yes", because she is fully aware that "roto" means "broken" which can only mean... bad news. The doctor confirms the worst, pointing to a fading white line on the x-ray.

A fractured clavicle. That was the diagnosis. And the remedy? A good, old-fashioned sling. Only for a week. Or at least that's what the doctor said.

Now, when I was in the third grade, I always secretly envied the kids that broke their arms (or even perhaps their clavicles) and got to wear a sling. It was brave and exciting all at the same time - they had survived to be able to tell their harrowing stories of falling off the monkeybars and had their badge of honor - the sling - to prove it. But that was third grade romanticism. And, I must break it to you (pardon the pun), but wearing a sling is not as glamorous as it once was. Poor Taylor couldn't lift much of anything, couldn't put up her own hair, nor cut her own meat (which, we all know, is a potentially grave problem here in the meat capital of the world). I tell all of you this not to make our dear friend feel bad, but to paint a real-life picture of what she had to endure.

As they often do in Argentina, a week turned into two, and two turned into four, and the doctors (ironically giving conflicting advice) all-the-while kept saying "Come back next week." It was as if the rehabilitation fairy was due to pay a visit "any time now", but she kept being delayed by who-knows-what (fairy business, to be sure). So, as you can imagine, Taylor was itching to get second opinions on the precarious state of her clavicle.

And so we find ourselves at the climax of our real-life story. Opting to go to a private doctor this time, Taylor is once again subjected to a round of x-rays. She claims (and I believe her) that they took seven x-rays of her left clavicle alone, which, by any standard, is impressive. And as the doctor examines them (picture the same pensive scene with the same utterance of "mmm..."), he seems to come to a rapid conclusion.

"Taylor," he says in his Argentine accent, "your clavicle was not and is not broken." Of course. No wonder none of us could seem to find the mysterious white "fracture" line that the first doctor kept pointing to in the x-rays.

So the long and the short of it is: our dear friend Taylor wore a restricting arm sling for a month just for the heck of it. And the ironic part is now she has to "take it easy" with her unbroken clavicle because her muscles in her shoulder have atrophied from being in the sling. What can we learn from this? First, politely decline if someone invites you to participate in a mean game of basketball. Second, in the world of medicine, it's never a bad idea to get a second opinion. And third, if you haven't broken your clavicle, don't put your arm in a sling. Unless, of course, you're in the third grade. Then you would be really cool.

posted by Courtney @ 2:06 AM