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Look what I did!

On May 1st, my Dad and I decided to go flying after I got off of work. After all, I needed to gas up the plane, and St. Augustine (SGJ) has the cheapest fuel around. After work, Dad and I went to the airport, took off and headed for SGJ. We met some friends down there and hung around looking at planes and watching amateur aerobatics. Finally, everybody was heading home, so we hopped in the plane and headed for the self serve fuel. Now keep in mind here that my Cardinal has a high wing and to fill the tanks you have to use a ladder. After filling the left fuel tank, I stepped down onto the fuel hose, which rolled under my foot causing me to do a pirouette into the ground. I saved the fuel pump handle from harm by catching myself with my right hand which stayed firmly on the pavement while arm shifted 2 inches to the right.

Dad: "Are you all right, Grace?"
Chuck: "Yeah, except for this darn broken arm."
Dad: "Well get up."
Chuck: "No, really. Its broken good."
Dad: "Let me see."
Chuck: "Look at my wrist."
Dad: "Yep, that’s broke."
Chuck: "And it hurts too..."
Dad: "I'll bet!"

I had dad put the fuel pump handle away and call my friend, Doug, one of the guys that we were watching airplanes with. He called the SGJ tower, the fuel pumps are at the base of the tower, and they brought me some frozen water bottles. They didn't have any ice, but the bottles were a great help. Then Doug called Gene Powers, a friend and Patty Wagstaff's crew chief for a few years. His team came and put the plane in a hanger and took Dad and I to the hospital.

By the time we got to the hospital, my foot was also beginning to hurt, so they x-rayed my foot and wrist. From my look at the x-rays, it looked like my arm bones just popped out of my wrist socket, but as it turned out, that's because the bone that they connect in to disintegrated. My layman's eyes couldn't even see the fragments. So after about 4 hours of some of the worst pain I have ever experienced, they put me to sleep to set it.

When I woke up, my arm was splinted and they said I was good to go. "So my foot is OK?" The doctor said, "What's wrong with your foot? They didn't tell me you also hurt your foot…" He looked at the x-rays, then came and manipulated my foot and wrapped that up too. A couple of bones in there also broke, but not nearly as bad as my arm.

Essentially, I had not only dislocated my wrist, but "center punched" the radius (the big bone in the arm) and "powdered" the end of the bone. The end of the bone was effectively crushed.

The doctor set the arm and scheduled a follow-up appointment for a couple of weeks later.

In the mean time, I had to get someone to fly my plane home. Believe it or not, the FAA won't let you fly with a broken arm and foot, but they will let you fly if you don't have one at all. Fortunately, Gene agreed to hold onto my plane indefinately until I could get some help to get it back to Herlong.

Incidentally, a couple of months earlier, Gene had a fight with a propeller and the propeller nearly cut off his arm. He recommended that I go see Dr. Start, who was the Orthopaedic Surgeon that saw me in the Hospital. I ended up having him as my primary physician for this incident.

When I went to the Dr. Stark, he was still trying to figure out what to do with the break. It looked as though it may heal without any further intervention, so we decided to let it wait for another two weeks. But when I returned two weeks later, it was clear surgery was required. My right arm was much shorter and it was clear that if left as it was, I would not be able to move my wrist much at all.

The surgery was scheduled and a month after the accident, I was wheeled into the operating room. The doctors were listening to Peter Frampton and I inhaled deeply...

The surgery went well, and two weeks later, Gene and I finally flew my plane home. I can't express my gratitude enough for the hospitality and friendship he has given me over the past couple of months. With his injury still healing and both our arms being broken at the self serve fuel pumps, he said that we were blood brothers. He had become a trusted friend.

So, now I have a T-shaped plate in my wrist. The strength will undoubtably return, but I will never have the same flexability in my wrist. In reality, there isn't much that I can not do.

At least I can now fly!

On a sad note, on July 31st, a month after my surgery, Gene was demonstrating an aircraft at SGJ that he was brokering for sale when something happened and the plane went down into a marsh shortly off the end of the runway, killing him and the perspective buyer.