Fall Risk

The yellow bracelet that recently dangled from my wrist in the hospital proved embarrassing and enlightening. I am a Fall Risk.

When I was in the hospital recently, my right wrist was draped with a rainbow of bracelets.

The first, a little white number, was strapped on when I was admitted after falling down the stairs in my home. The bracelet described me by name, birthdate and other important identifying factors.

A second bracelet, pink I think, was in place to show I’m allergic to Oxycodone. (It makes me itch like crazy!)

Another, red I think, was in place to warn nurses and technicians to never use my right arm to check vital signs or take blood samples. I have a high risk for developing lymphedema in my right arm because of numerous breast cancer surgeries and lymph node dissections along my right side. So, constricting the arm with a blood pressure cuff or tourniquet is no bueno.

Finally, a yellow bracelet was placed on my wrist with the ominous descriptor: Fall Risk.

I should have taken a photo of my arm before the bracelets were cut away. I looked like a circa-1983 teen with tiers of jelly bracelets making a fashion statement. It was pretty silly.

I hated the yellow bracelet most of all. It was bad enough I was in the hospital for of all things, falling. I didn’t need a constant reminder about my lack of grace and I didn’t need this broadcast to the hospital proper.

Although I was happy to have a medical team concerned about properly identifying me and my medical peculiarities, I also was pretty embarrassed by everything swinging from my wrist.

Much like talking about my lengthy medical record to physicians and therapists during the hospital stay, the bracelets on my wrist told a story … Chapters of medical intervention in a few short years.

For me, my medical record is pretty checkered.

There have been broken bones, legs, an ankle, my neck.

There have been therapeutic interventions. A pretty sweet case of PTSD after compound fracturing my ankle is detailed in my past. Some physicians like to touch on that diagnosis, probe a little more. This is fine. I feel much better now even though I fell then, too.

Then, there is Breast Cancer 1.0 and Breast Cancer 2.0. With each encounter, most physicians ask about the surgeries, the treatments, the scars, the suck of it all.

During my recent hospitalization, a trauma surgeon seemed keen on hearing about my past. When he first examined me, he asked about the large scar stretching from hip to hip. I explained it was the result of the DIEP flap reconstruction I had following a double mastectomy in 2013. From there, the surgeon wanted to know more about my cancer saga.

I told him about the courses of chemotherapy, the rounds of radiation, the biopsies, the lumpectomies, the lymph node removals, the hysterectomy and the oophorectomy. As I talked, the surgeon nodded his head and listened intently.

When I finished, he simply said: ‘I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with so much.’

After a night of disorientation, pain and downright sickness, hearing this man’s condolence was really important. I felt like he understood how beleaguered I was.

Later that afternoon, a nurse noticed the lotus flower with GPS coordinates tattooed on my right ankle and asked about its significance. I told her the coordinates are for Mount Sanitas in Boulder, CO. The mountain I was hiking when I fell and compound fractured my ankle.

She responded: ‘What are we going to do with you?’

Not exactly the commiseration I needed. I looked at the Fall Risk bracelet and considered maybe it was best the band was strapped to me.

Later, however, as I started moving around, with the use of a metal walker often seen accompanying people much older than me, the Fall Risk bracelet faded from my mind.

It was good to be up and moving.

It was good to know although I’ve had my share of medical encounters, my body was willing to give me and gravity another shot.

This body has been through a lot in my 47 years. Fortunately, it has forgiven me and bounced back.

After completing radiation for Breast Cancer 2.0 in 2017, the radiologist warned me there likely would be some lingering effects caused by this treatment. Specifically, he said if I ever was in a car accident or had a fall (Fall Risk!), I likely could expect some broken bones.

So, after falling down 15 stairs in my home one night earlier this month, I guess I should have been ready for the compression factures in my vertebrae and the head injury.

I wasn’t. I was shocked and embarrassed (still am) by the level of injury this caused.

Still, I am thankful for a resilient body. One that has been tested quite a few times. One that seems bent on bouncing back.

It’s true. I am a Fall Risk. It’s not the most glamorous description I’ve ever heard. It is one I need to acknowledge and respect, though.

I need to do better by my body.