Yes, I have managed to break my right wrist.
I fell playing rounders at a barbeque. I've managed to split my ulner, chip it AND possibly dislocate my thumb. It sucks.
I can barely do anything. Typing is taking an age and the pain means I can't even use my fingers to hold anything still while I use my left hand.
Mr Weenie has been marvellous.
So... the story...
I was fielding and ran for the ball. My ankle went over and I landed with all my weight on my wrist. I felt sick for a moment and it was sore but I decided to get up and soldier on. I played left handed for another hour or so. Afterwards, we went to the bar. I'd only had two bottles of beer all day but decided to have a coke.
I started to feel really sick and, as we left, asked to be taken to the hospital on the way home. We arrived at 8.45pm, and left at 2.30am. I swore and moaned while being x-rayed and nearly passed out when they took the sling off.
A mean nurse plastered me eventually and we walked home. Mr Weenie carried my bag, made sure I kept warm and, with the foxes and a clear night it could have been romantic.
The annoying thing is that I can't blog much, if at all. Nor, crucially, can I cycle. Six weeks in plaster. Sigh.