The Scaphoid Blues

The last time I stepped foot in Nashville, it was off a plane and into the arms of a beautiful woman who made my heart sing. Today’s arrival was a lot different.

First, there were no open arms, and I stepped out of the passenger side of a Mercury sedan. Not off a plane and definitely not off the seat of my Suzuki V-Strom as planned. My poor injured bike is currently caged at a wrecking yard in Cincinnati, its fate to be determined by the folks at Jevco Insurance. I’m hoping with all my heart that they will cover shipment back to Canada because I can’t afford to ship it back myself and I won’t be able to ride it in the next two months. It doesn’t run and needs a little work to be road worthy again. Plus there’s the wee issue of the cast on my left arm that poses some problems for squeezing the clutch and holding on in general.

My last post said that the wrist wasn’t broken. I wrote that Saturday night. But Sunday morning, I got a call from the hospital saying another radiologist had looked at the x-ray at it was indeed broken ­– a fractured scaphoid.

Dr. Hoover at University of Cincinnati Hospital’s hand orthopedic clinic was awesome (actually, everybody in the clinic was awesome) at my follow-up on Tuesday. If you bust your hand, go see him. We sat down in one of those usual little exam rooms with the white medical cupboards, ancient faded bone illustrations on the walls, and the exam bench with stainless steel stirrups and all that jazz.

Doc H started the whole thing by saying “I think the ER folks gave you a bit of a scare on Sunday and, although their hearts were in the right place, there really isn’t that much need to worry in this case.” Then he pulled out his pen. You know that roll of paper they pull down over the bench for each new patient to sit on? He drew a nice big diagram of the scaphoid bone on it. I wish I’d kept it; the pic below is borrowed. Hopefully I’ll recall the details properly.

Image source: http://www.mlrehabpt.com/?page=library&list=wrist&article=42#article_top

The scaphoid is kind of bean shaped. Blood flow comes in through the narrow end, so fractures around there usually heal quite well and he hardly ever operates for them. The fat end doesn’t get great circulation, so fractures there tend to cause problems and he often operates there. Other fractures across the middle “waistline” can heal on their own or require surgery. It mostly depends on how well the two pieces of bone are aligned. If they’re displaced, then a screw is needed to pull them back together. But if they’re still well aligned, then they usually heal just fine on their own in a cast.

The two pieces of my scaphoid were perfectly aligned in the Saturday x-rays, and still A-OK in the new x-rays on Tuesday. Doc H said there was a 90-95% chance, probably more like 95%, that my fracture would heal.

This was a massive relief. I told him how stressed I’d been about the possibility of surgery because it meant I’d have to end the trip right there and head back to Canada. I had no idea what the insurance or US cost implications would be, plus I’d like to have ongoing post-op access to the surgeon who did the job. Mostly, it was the fear of $$$.

Why was I so impressed with Dr. Hoover? Aside from the modern art, of course... Because he said things like “Listen, this is my absolute favourite operation, so if there was any reasonable argument for doing it, I’d have you in there right now” and “If it were me, I’d get the cast and go to Nashville. In the off chance it doesn’t heal you can always get the surgery later in Canada and you won’t miss any of the great experiences that lie ahead of you on this trip. But I don’t think you need to worry about the surgery anyway.”

Therefore, I am now in Nashville, from where my friends Pauline and Oliver drove last night, arriving in Cincinnati at 1:05 AM. I had a room waiting for them and we met (amid a sea of excited and very snazzily dressed Chinese choir girls in town for the World Choir Games) over breakfast which I am willing to bet, at the Hampton Inn & Suites on Vine Street, is the biggest and bestest free breakfast at any hotel in North America. They also give discounts to hospital patients and all the staff are wicked friendly and sweet.

We talked for over an hour before loading the car and then talked for five or so more on the road. I had my first Cracker Barrel meal, great chicken pot pie. I had to wrestle Oliver away from the restaurant bill and again away from the gas pump so I could contribute something. After all, they were spending over nine hours driving, half of which was on their 4th of July holiday, to rescue me and my bikeless bike gear from the lovely, I’m sure, but lonely pit stop of Cincinnati.

I can’t thank them enough.