“Whoosh!” went the air against my face as I descended towards the (frankly massive) jump at something approximating terminal velocity.

“Whoosh!” went the air against my face as I ascended skywards.

“Karunk!” went my shoulder as it hit the piste where I had hoped to land my snowboard.

There are moments in life when you immediately know something is wrong. Like the fart that is a little bit wetter than you were expecting, or your entrance to the black tie do you had been guaranteed was really a toga party. But dislocating your shoulder tops them all. It is strange not being able to move your arm when it suddenly feels about a foot longer than it should be.

As I lay face down in the snow I could hear the chuckles from my friends at my little spill. They will take their fully functioning arms and all go to hell to burn for eternity, obviously.

“I think it’s popped out, can you check?” I asked of Quasifrodo.

“Hmm, there is a big gap where your shoulder should be. I’m no doctor, but it feels pretty minging.”

And so one of group was dispatched to fetch help.

In case you didn’t know, a shoulder dislocation hurts. A lot. You women and your childbirth know nothing about the excruciating pain I was experiencing. I would have happily passed a water-melon out of my imaginary vagina just to stop the pain when I shifted position.

Not that I grumbled. Oh no. Well, not apart from the odd, “Don’t fucking touch me you heavy handed cunt!” directed at my friends.

After about 10 minutes a Skidoo arrived with a mountain-based medical professional. “Parlez vous Francais?” he asked me.

“Un peu” I responded, using up twenty percent of my French vocabulary.

He felt my shoulder, or rather the gap where it had been just moments before, and then did his best to strap it up whilst I retreated quietly to my happy place (a deserted beach, a case of fine wine, and a naked Amanda Peet).

I was shaken back to reality as I was asked to ride pillion on the skidoo and my shoulder began to hurt again, in addition to the worrying amount of pins and needles I was experiencing all down my left arm.

“I have a worrying amount of pins of needles up and down my left arm” I said to him.

He nodded and smiled at me as if I had complimented him on what a smashing one-piece he was wearing.

We then accelerated down the mountain to the nearest cable car. Faster and faster, with even greater acceleration as we reached the end of the run I had been leaping down.

Then we hit a bump.

“Kathwunk!!” went my shoulder as it popped back into it’s original position, somewhat painfully.

“AIEEIEIGHAAH!! It has gone back in!!” I shouted over the engine noise.

Again he smiled and gave me the thumbs up as if I had complimented him on his excellent tan. We finally reached the cable car where I sat down and held my arm in the now ill-fitting sling (it had been fitted when my arm was about three inches longer than it now was).

(Continued tomorrow)

No tags