How I broke my arm

Flying is not dangerous; crashing is dangerous.

The lead up to it

I was flying in the BPC/ Welsh Open 2000 in May and several people had commented on the fact that my wing had a weird crease in it. The comments were made in the pub late that night and I wasn't aware of any problem. Except that I was having problems thermalling up as fast as everything else in the air. In fact I was one of only 2 gliders in the only thermal of the day with any potential and I fell out of it. Danial Subhani was the other pilot and he got to cloudbase and won the task with a 19km flight. In the end just before the launch window closed everyone took off and made a dash down wind just to at least score something. I managed 2.77km and incredibly came 2nd overall. So as a result of this I was reasonably happy that my wing was flying ok and it was me that wasn't flying it as it needed to be flown, which in this instance was fast and not slowed right down in a thermal.

A week later at the first round of the nationals we were all in Llandinam, Mid Wales near Newtown. Task set was 48k race to goal with a single attempt. I was one of the early ones to launch and did so in a howling gale. I got airborne perfectly first time and completely forgot about the comments made the week before about the strange kink in the wing. I joined a thermal that others were in but all too soon, fell out the bottom again whilst the others out climbed me. I had gone over the back at this point and was in danger of having to topland if I didn't get back to the face of the hill. The wind was still strong and I needed speed bar to penetrate quickly. I had a rather large tuck at this point as a thermal hit my wing on the left hand side. I sorted that out fine and made it to the face of the hill on the other side of a gully between the takeoff hill and where I was now.

I had to fly up and down this face mostly on my own waiting for the next thermal to get back and join the others flying in front of the take off hill. As I watched several gaggles go over the back I was feeling a bit pissed off stuck where I was, but took consolation in the fact that I hadn't joined many on the ground below who didn't quite make it back to the front of the hill. It was while beating up and down my private hill that I noticed that the innermost main B line on the right hand side was trailing in the wind slightly more than the others. I followed the line up to where it joined the canopy and noticed (at last) the crease that the others had warned my about. DOH !

I wondered if the inner load bearing material had snapped and the outer sheath was all that was holding this line in place. I pulled down on the offending line and the crease in the wing disappeared. Ah ha! Maybe that's the problem, I thought. Finally a thermal came through and I rejoined the few pilots that were left in front of the take off hill. About 5 minutes later a nice black cloud approached and 3 of us managed to use it to leave the hill at last. I took it to cloudbase and drifted back with it. As it turned to sink I headed off in a straight line towards  another cloud in the direction of the goal. I never found any more lift and I landed 10.2k from takeoff.

I made sure my GPS was still on and marked the landing spot and took my 2 photos of the wing on the ground as proof of landing, wrapped up the kit and set about hitching back. No thoughts of checking the suspect line, DOH !

Finally got a lift into Newtown and made contact with Wiz who took me, Chris (Calvo) Burns, Dave Snowden and Mat Taggart back to the takeoff. Guess what, I took off again without checking that bloody line DOH! Well it flew 10k maybe it ain't that bad. Huh, some hopes.

I flew up and down the hill and pulled on this long line and shouted at those still on the hill. "What's it look like now". "A bag of shite" was the answer. Oh well that's that theory out the window. 5 minutes later I noticed a friend setting up getting ready to take off. She was checking her lines, like a 2 hour CP would do, and like a 170 hour AP ought to have done too. It was still very blowy and so I decided I'd top land and help her off the hill if it was suitable. There was no hope of getting down in that wind on the top and so I big ears'd in.

Then it all went pear shaped. The ground was coming up bloody fast and I knew the wing had gone parachutal. I let go of the A lines but the ears stayed in. A quick pump in a desperate attempt to get them out. I had my undercarrage down ready for a PLF but the wing then fullstalled behind me and pulled me onto my back. I hit the ground full on my back with my left arm down. The RapAir harness I fly with has a big airbag in it and that cushioned the impact as far as my back was concerned. But my left arm had taken a massive blow. I rolled over onto my knees and knew immediately I'd broken my wrist. My hand was limp (more than usual) and when I lifted it up and let go, it fell back down again. I shouted out that I'd broken my wrist and I need help. It soon arrived in the form of Dave Bucannon. Fortunately for me he's an ex-paramedic, specialising in backs and bones.

I explained I'd broken my wrist but let him get on and do the first aid routine. Being a first aider myself I knew the routine. Slowly I began to go into shock and had very little concept of what was funny and what wasn't. Time and short term memory loss was apparent as I (apparently) kept on telling the same joke. I remember replying to the question "How do you feel", with, "With my hands" And also asking why the French only have 1 egg for breakfast, because ones enough (un oeuf). Why that joke I don't know.

I got someone to dial Wiz on my phone and I tried speaking to her but being flat on my back with the phone to my ear, the aerial was buried in the grass, the reception was poor. However she at least got to hear I was still alive. You know how it is when that phone call comes through saying "so and so's had an accident but he's OK really". I heard a helicopter approach, I've got ears like Radar from MASH for that sort of thing, and thought it was a bit overkill for a busted wrist. However they treated me for a suspected back injury regardless and loaded me onto a backboard with lots of immobilisation pads all around my head. See pictures. As I was being carried to the MBB BO 105, as it was, I could hear them saying "we're going to have to chop his legs off to get him in there AND shut the doors". As I was pushed in it was just as well I wasn't claustrophobic as it's very tight. Anyone with a big nose would have had to have it held down with tape to prevent it from leaving a snail trail on the ceiling. Eventually my head and shoulders emerged into the rear compartment of the cabin and the doors closed without a hitch.

Engines started and off we went for the 15 minute flight to Shrewsbury Hospital. Coming into land was quite noisy, I could hear every loose panel and rivet rattling as the as the chopper was flaring for touchdown. Bit worrying actually, but having said that, it was a far more smooth ride than that poxy Robinson R22  I went in once. That thing shook more like a metronome on speed.

Once into the accident and emergency room I started blabbing about not wanting my flying suit cut off. I explained the high technology zips that were all over it and that I'd put up with the pain of pulling the elasticated cuff over my hand. My thanks to the A&E staff who got it off me in one piece. I spent hours sewing things on that suit and I'd hate to have to start again, and that's another reason to stay with the same sponsor! I was extricated from the backboard and was checked again for back injuries, but there were no apparent problems, apart from it hurt like buggery, (so I'm told). I was given a pain killer injection and wheeled off to the X-ray dept. 20 minutes later my pictures were developed and the doc said I've broken my Radius (biggest bone in forearm) and it was slightly out of alignment. I asked to see the picture and realised he was a comedian. Not only was it out of alignment, but the two ends were overlapping by about half an inch. It then dawned on me that I was going to miss the Bar-B-Q back at the camp site and wasn't going to get any beer that night for medicinal purposes. I asked what time the pain killer was going to start work and was offered another to help. Pethidine was then ordered and was advised it would make me woozy. It didn't and neither did it do anything for the pain in my arm which is where perhaps they should have injected it and not my thigh.

Next up was the nurse who put me in a plaster cast to give support until surgery next afternoon, then off to the ward for the worst night sleep I'd ever had. I commented on the fact that I'd never been to a hospital with an A&E department that was so empty of patients, and where was all those kids with saucepans stuck on their heads? I was advised that they were down the corridor as per normal and I had jumped a 4 hour waiting queue. Well something had to go my way that day.

Midnigh,t and a sign was place above my bed "nil by mouth". That's all I needed. I was dehydrated when I came in and now they are going to make it worse. 05:30 hours and the whole place is alive with nurses doing what nurses do first thing in the morning. No it's not what you're thinking, that's a Carry On film gag. Drug rounds, bed making, all sorts of unmentionables with old people, argh, wonder what makes them want to do this for living. 09:00 the consultant comes in and informs me of my stupidity and the fact that I have a Galeazzi fracture of my fore-arm and that they will be plating my left distal radius that afternoon. And I thought I'd broken my arm!

Into the operating side show stalls at 14:00 and following a botched attempt at getting a drip needle into a vein on the back of my hand, they insisted that I keep my eyes open as they injected whatever it was. Moments later I woke up and it was 16:30. Hmmmm, lost time, abduction by aliens? ahha, the operation is over and maybe now I can have a drink. Back up to the ward and a request for a cup of tea was put in. "NO, you an have a glass of water and if you keep that down maybe you'll get some tea". Off went the hard nurse stage right and enter the supper trolley stage left. "Got any left overs" I asked, and was surprised to get a nice plate of steamed fish, mashed spuds and peas, and a cup of tea. Boy did I need that lot. Just a well the dinner lady didn't know where I'd just come from.

Click on these pictures. Actual size if your screen resolution is 1024 x 768. Plate size is 77 x 10 x 5mm

Another piss poor nights sleep, the second of many, and next day I was informed that I could go home that day. I didn't have a plaster cast on my arm as the physio bods wanted me to twist my arm back and forth to restore the full range of movement. Problem was that the blood soaked dressing had gone solid during the night and I managed to rub a blister on a good bit of my forearm with the chaffing against the dried blood. I got home early evening on the Wednesday and took off the bandage. Wiz wouldn't remove the bloody dressing to put a clean one on, and we have enough of them with the first aid kits we have, both being first aiders. So I had to put up with it for another night and then went to my local doctors and got a nurse to change it. Nice scar. No external stitches. Nice bruise.

3 days off work and a weekend break and I went back to work. Made myself useful doing PC support work and other sedentary jobs.

2 weeks on (12th June) and the scar is almost fully closed apart from the bit of internal stitch that worked it's way out this afternoon. The consultant at the fracture clinic pulled it out with a pair of tweezers after I had a follow up X-ray, see pictures.

Inspection of the lines on the wing 2 weeks after the incident showed that there was a knot in the right hand side innermost C line where it cascades into 2 smaller lines and then to the wing itself. I marked the two sides of the knot with a felt pen and then untied it. One line going to the wing had been pulled down by 17cm and the other 22cm. No wonder it flew like a bag shit. I'm staggered that I missed such an obvious fault. It really didn't look that bad from where I was sitting. I wonder if anyone has any pictures of it in flight.

So, there you have it. Impressions of Homer Simpson on the hill and this is what happens. I expect you'll all know the moral of the story. Nuff said.

Unfortunately the story didn't quite end there. Almost 15 weeks to the day, I broke it again. This time I cracked the same bone where the last screw from my wrist is fixed in place. I had been flying now for about 4 weeks and the week previous to the second break, I made the second best flight in the UK I've had. 32.5 km on September 3rd.

On the fateful day I had mostly been flying Tandem. The tow club I belong to, "XClent", was raising money for the MacMillan Nurse charity and a local oncology unit. Other people would come and fly as a passenger and would have sponsorship to do it. After I'd flown all those fund raisers, I took to the air on my own wing again. To cut a long story short, too late I hear you say, the wing stalled on takeoff and I dropped to the floor and I landed hard enough to crack the bone.

 I was pretty pissed off by now as I was convinced another operation was going to be needed to re-seat the metal plate. On the way home back to High Wycombe, Caroline dropped me off at the hospital and then went home for dinner. She came back about 2 hours later just as I was off to get my arm plastered up. The X-ray showed that the bone and plate was still in a good position and 6 weeks in plaster would do just fine.

Time to cancel another flying holiday, booked just the week before, 13 days in France for St Hilaire and St Andre. A fourth flying holiday to Lanzarote was not cancelled but the Wiz denied me permission to take my flying kit. And who would argue with a black belt karate ka.

2 weeks in a temporary plaster and then a 4 more in a nice fluorescent yellow one. Crash test dummy marks were compulsory.

Remember Good judgement comes from experience and experience comes from bad judgement.