Five weeks have passed since I fell on a rock and fractured my wrist, as described in my previous post Trauma on Cheltenham Beach. Progress has been frustratingly slow, but there are definite improvements. I no longer take painkillers. I have a synthetic cast which is lighter and more comfortable than the plaster one. I can walk the dog using a harness, and fasten my own watch and wash my own hair. I still can’t cut my nails, drive the car, make beds, cope with tight screw tops or plastic packaging. I type and play the piano with one hand.
Colles fractures are common. While I am out walking people often ask me what is wrong with my arm, and a surprising number of them have gone on to tell me that they or someone in their family have had a broken wrist themselves. From talking to them I have learned that the outcome can vary a great deal. One woman, who had the same operation that I would probably have had but for the Covid lockdown, reported an excellent result and showed me the barely visible scar. Another had a similar operation which appeared to have worked well until she experienced a return of pain, found to be due to displacement of one of the screws used to secure the metal plate, and is awaiting further treatment. A third, whose fracture was treated conservatively several years ago, has persistent pain and weakness in her wrist. A couple of others, however, have recovered well after conservative treatment. The only man in my little sample, whose injury was very recent, is scheduled for surgery this week.
Clearly the prognosis for each individual depends on details of the fracture and the general health of the patient. There will be many months to wait before I know what it will be like for me.