According to everyone I talked to during aprés ski hour on the patio yesterday, Skier’s Thumb is the world’s most common ski injury. Skier’s Thumb is when you fall onto your outstretched hand and forget to let go of your ski pole. It’s when you shake yourself off as your brother-in-law gathers your fallen equipment from the slope above you and you think to yourself, “Whoa. That hurt. But I’m okay. I think everything’s okay. No broken bones. Oh, but my thumb hurts like Hell,” and you shake it a few times Grease Lightning style, hoping no one sees those tears behind your goggle lenses. But then you take off your glove and realize that the thumb joint is unstable and you ask yourself, “Do I even use this thumb?” and for an hour you actually convince yourself that thumbs are totally overrated.
If Skier’s Thumb is the world’s most common ski injury then I guess I’m doing pretty good. I made it almost 40 years of skiing before I finally did it to myself. Last Friday, I was skiing Middle Ferk’s with John, Scott and my brother-in-law Steve, and I fell hard. But I’m a tough gal and I laughed it off–even after I noticed that I couldn’t touch my thumb to my forefinger without sending spikes of hot iron down my wrist into my arm. A little thumb jam wasn’t going to keep me from a day of skiing, even if I did have to just hold my right pole under my arm like a purse.
In fact I was reminded of skiing with my friend Corinne in Verbier. She was recovering from a broken hand and skiing without ski poles. I told her to just, “pretend like you had poles” and she kindly told me that my “sage” advice truly helped her. She’s a very kind person.
After an x-ray and an MRI and an exam from the world’s best hand surgeon, I’ve been diagnosed with a full ligament tear, aka skier’s thumb aka gamekeeper’s thumb. So tomorrow I have surgery and will be on pain meds for a few days, so I can’t entirely take responsibility for anything that I post between now and say Friday. I might not post anything, or it could be drunken ramblings or could even be poetic, semi-lucid truisms. Probably not, but you never know. One can always hope.
Fortunately I have the world’s best mom and she promised to come over and help me button my pants and dry my hair for the next few days. Not that my husband couldn’t do all that, but he doesn’t have much practice in hair drying, nor can he manage those tiny hair bungees to tie my locks back into a ponytail.