Galeazzi-Fraktur (Galeazzi fracture) / Th. Zimmermann / CC SA 3.0 Germany. Image has been cropped.
Eighteen months ago, I sustained a serious arm and wrist fracture falling down our staircase. It is called a Galeazzi fracture, a very sophisticated name for a tremendously awful injury. Less than seven percent of people are diagnosed with this kind of fracture. My husband joked that I have always been an overachiever. After emergency surgery, new hardware, and a pinned wrist, I thought the worst was over. Was I ever wrong.
Exactly four weeks after surgery, they extricated the pin from my wrist with pliers in the orthopedic office. Yes, you read that right: pliers and an in-office appointment. It literally felt like my arm was broken all over again.
After a few weeks, many rounds of ice, and a foam triangle pillow, I finally started occupational therapy. Nothing is more sobering than realizing you can no longer operate your hand. I couldn’t make a fist. There would be no flipping the bird, and no thumbs up. It was utterly demoralizing. I spent six months in occupational therapy with an amazing therapist named Grace. Her name exemplified the rocky process that is healing. It took a whole lot of grace.
As I was learning to maneuver and trust my hand and arm again, I realized something else was injured during my fall — my psyche. Ordinary movements made me break out in a cold sweat. Putting weight on my hand felt like an intense trust exercise. My body no longer felt like my own. I was so afraid to get hurt again. I no longer trusted my body to be safe.
In November of 2023, I graduated from therapy. I cried happy and panicked tears. I was proud of my progress and scared shitless of losing Grace. I also realized I was terribly frightened of getting hurt again. I never pictured having trauma from a stupid fall on the stairs. Simply missing a stair had resulted in daily recaps of the fall, and frequent nightmares.
Before the fall, I had been attempting to relearn how to ride a bike (as a forty-something woman, riding a bike did not just ‘come back’ to me), and I had also purchased an electric scooter. Now the idea of riding a bike or scooter terrified me. I kept picturing the hard impact of pavement.
For months, I felt shame. Why couldn’t I just get past my fear? Daily, I passed by my bike and scooter in the garage as they gathered dust and cobwebs from disuse. My stomach would sink at the thought of trying to ride. I started to research other options such as a trike, but I felt even more defeated. I would criticize myself. Trikes are for the elderly or individuals who are disabled. You are not an old lady or disabled.
In early May 2024, we were at the Uptown and I saw a trike for sale at Reborn Bike Shop. My heart felt a glimmer of hope, but then I quickly dismissed this silly notion. Once again, I shamed myself for merely considering this idea. But I kept thinking about the trike. I couldn’t shake the idea that I could have fun while healing. So, I phoned my husband and told him to load up my bike and electric scooter in the SUV, because I was trading them in for a trike.
A few weeks later, I took my new trike home. I have proudly named her Red Sonja because she is red, fierce, and beautiful. When I took my first 20-minute cruise around the neighborhood with my family, I was scared, but I also loved the sense of freedom. I am so happy to be riding a bike again with my son. Who knew that one extra wheel could change so much?
Shame and trauma have kept me from fully experiencing my life. I’m still scared of getting injured again, but I am no longer ashamed of needing some extra support to heal and experience life. My wish for you all is to never feel ashamed of needing support to continue healing and enjoying your lives. Also, many thanks to Reborn Bike Shop for helping me get my sweet ride!
Kendra McCullough is a rocking lady who is attempting to live her best life with her hubby and son.
“Fractured” © 2024 by Kendra McCullough is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International. To view a copy of this license, visit creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0
“Fractured” was edited by Sara Quinn.
