Sometimes
you dress for the occasion, sometimes the occasion dresses you… and sometimes you
start the day wearing a Superman t-shirt, and end it wearing an external frame drilled
into your leg.
I think we
can all agree that life is a series of choices.
From yes please, more parmesan, to no thanks, Trump belongs to the kind
of dystopian future only Jennifer Lawrence could bring down – the consequences of
these choices can be huge, obvious course alterations, but mostly the results
are barely perceptible.
But there’s
a third group – the things that pay off in truly unexpected ways.
When I was 6,
I swapped writing hands to I could sit with my best friend. When I was 19, I locked my keys in the car for
the third time in a week. When I was 30,
I started buying superhero t-shirts because they made me feel oddly empowered. And two days ago I opted to push through some
slushy snow with a bit more speed, rather than slowing down.
Picture it
now: I’m flying down the slopes of Thredbo, wind in my hair, trees whizzing by,
vaguely visible grass patches cheering me on.
It’s as if the last 6 months of diligently working out have all led to
this moment – fitness and confidence combining to take me down the mountain at
a cracking pace.
Then slush. Then a hard inside edge. Then a lot of forward momentum dragging me
away from a foot locked firmly into a boot that a ski refuses to release.
Then me
lying face first in a twisted heap on a bank of muddy snow. Season with screaming to taste.
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| OMG, how embarrassment, did you guys not get the memo that I was wearing red? |
One pro to
severely injuring yourself while skiing – you don’t have to immediately see how
awful it is. Your wounds are secure,
helpfully hidden – all loose bone and jutting joints are pleasantly ensconced
in a water proofed material package, topped with special footwear.
A big con –
all that neat clothing and highly rigid footwear has to come the fuck off. I can swear about that, because I’ve had a
ski boot removed while sporting a spiral fracture to the tibia – I can swear
about that fucker for days.
A fesh pro
to the clothing removal process came when three unexpectedly strapping young men were charged with taking
off my pants at the medical clinic. An
unexpected con arrived with the belated realisation that I was wearing Superman (well, technically, Supergirl) underwear, which matched my Superman t-shirt.
In case it’s not obvious, I’ll explain – I was feeling hella empowered
that day, and I simply dressed to match.
The irony of
the Superman logo was not lost on a single soul in any ambulance, x-ray booth,
operating theatre or hospital ward that followed. Combined with the last name Paine, I was a
walking punchline. I should’ve found it
unbelievably irritating, but instead it felt like the perfect ice breaker.
 |
| Like dentists & other super heroes, I feel strapping medical staff need their identities protected |
Despite the aftermath
being a blur of snow sleds and kindly middle aged nurses urging me not to look
at my elbow, I have a clear picture of how the whole thing went down. Several clear pictures, actually. Two friends were on the spot to help soothe
me, taking charge of everything non-medical.
But they also understood that what a girl wants, nay, what a girl needs… is a sensitively taken photographic
essay of her dramatic day on the snow fields.
Complete with an emergency selfie.
Only true
friends can take on such tasks – the type that are found through random life
events, like a bad habit of locking your keys inside your car.
On Sunday I
was feeling kind of excellent about life.
Thoroughly at ease for the first time in about three months – high job
satisfaction, fabulous friends, good food, and total freedom on the slopes. Everything was coming up Painefull. And then… everything came up painful.
 |
| No stunt doubles were used in the making of this leg photo |
I could
blame my ski bindings, or my age, or climate change (the last one is most
tempting, because… it’s irrefutable science
and all), but the choices I made were the dominant factors. I didn’t run into anyone or anything – most of
that bad boy is on me.
 |
| There's a Game of Thrones joke in here somewhere, about me facing off against The Mountain... still working on it... |
But so was
the decision to become left-handed so I could sit next to Kevin Durrington. As I consider my right arm in all its
battered, bionic woman brace glory, I remind myself that while the next few months
may be hard, at least I will always be able to sign my name. I have 6 year old me to thank for that.
Some choices
really do pay off in the most unexpected of ways.
Painefull
Out
P.S. In the space of a minute, while seated by my
hospital bed, Mother Painefull suggested I eat another Tim Tam, and declared
she would buy me a fresh superman t-shirt, so I just thought you all deserved a
warning – the apocalypse is nigh.
