Breaking my hand in the middle of a play my freshman year of college was only half of the story.
Taking Vicodin for the first time is the rest.
It was Saturday, and I had to wait until Monday morning to see a surgeon about my hand. I had called mymother,andsheplanned to drive over on Sunday and stay the night so that she could go with me. All was well at this point. My handwasinasplint,myarm was in a sling and I had a prescription for painkillers from the hospital—nothing to worry about until Monday morning.
I honestly can’t remember the pain of breaking my hand. I do remember thinking it wasn’t that bad -- I don’t recall crying all that much. But, for whatever reason, I hadn’t grasped the idea that I didn’t have to take the Vicodin if I didn’t want/need to. I simply thought, well, they gave it to me, so I must need to take it.
Oh boy. I was in some pain, so I poppedonepillanddecided I would go visit my friend who lived on another hall in my dorm. Her older sister was the one who drove me to the ER. I lived on the second floor of a U-shaped dorm, directly in the middle of the middle section. I made my way down the hallway and by the time I turned the corner to her hall, I was pretty much dragging myself down the wall. When I finally walked into her room, she rushed over, asking what was wrong.
I responded with, “Is this what being drunk feels like?”
Bless her, she helped me back to my room, and I napped the rest of the day until Open Dorm. My boyfriend came over, and we put on “The Two Towers” to watch with my friends. The entire movie, I kept gushing over how adorable Gollum was.
If I wasn’t doing that, I was holding up my splinted hand, saying, “Hey guys, when I move my fingers like this, my hand makes a funny noise.”
I will spare you a description of what was actually happening, but I’m sure you can guess.
Finally, the following day, my mother arrived.As I was completely zonked out on pain pills, she had to drive me to the cast party that night. We arrived, and she sat me at the table, saying she’d get me a plate since I was one-handed. When she returned with food and sat down on my right, I noticed that the guy who accidentally broke my hand was sitting on my left. I looked at him, then at Mom, back at him, and back at Mom.
I don’t know what possessed me to say it, but I blame it on the pills.
“Mom! It’s the guy who broke my hand!” I shouted, pointing at him.
This poor man. All the color drained from his face as everyone stopped what they were doing, watching us.
“I am so sorry, Mrs. Kalka-” “First of all,” Mom interrupted, a smile on her face. “I’m Shelly. Mrs. Kalka is my mother-in-law. Secondly, do not listen to her. She’s a little high right now. But it’s fine. I know it was an accident and we’re not angry at all.”
I simply grinned at him. Later that night during awards, I was given the “Taking it Like a Man” award.Today, I’d probably amend the name a bit, but still. I experienced what the surgeon called a highimpact break on stage in the middle of a sold-out show and continued on. Like a boss. Or a lady.
Thankfully, I didn’t need surgery. Just a cast for six weeks that made typing extremely difficult. And I’m left with a bump where the bones healed together. Also, I stopped taking the Vicodin after I fell asleep for the 20th time trying to do a group project with my best friend. This resulted in an embarrassing photo that branded me “Emma the Duck” for the entirety of my college career.
As I’ve learned, a couple of ibuprofen are plenty enough for me.
Also, don’t put me near things with sharp edges on stage.