The Yellow Bag

I didn't hear my knee pop, nor did I feel the kneecap slide off to the side. Oh, but I felt the cold rush of snow being forced down my pink ski suit when I fell into the snow drift on the left side of the ski slope.

No longer racing down the ski slope, I found myself covered in snow and my left leg twisted with the ski tip buried sideways in a snowbank. The trees over head seemed to be shaking their heads saying, "You knew better than to try this steep slope on the last run of the day." Perhaps that was my mother whispering to me from my childhood. "You know better!" 

Suddenly, my daughter and husband rush to a stop and Katy screams "Mom Mom..." I have no reply.  The snow is soft and comforting. Slowly and carefully she and Jack pull my arms lifting me to stand. The left leg releases from the snow drift. It is my turn to scream and collapse. 

"I can't stand," I moan as warm tears drop from my eyes only to freeze in tiny rivulets. Collapsing into a pile in the snow I slump quietly trying to figure out how to get down the slope. People race by and the three of us look around searching  for help. We are all helpless. One person stopped and hollered, "Do you need help?"

"Yes," three voices chorused back.

Feeling embarrassed and deflated I leaned back into the snow drift. Before long two young men flew into our nest of worries. My eyes looked up to their youthful bodies, internally I am laughing. I am actually being rescued and not by a Swiss Mountain dog. Although I'm thinking the lick from a warm loving dog sure would feel reassuring. 

As women, we are never too old to notice handsome young men, even if they are covered from head to toe in ski pants, goggles, snow caps, and gloves. 

Mumbled conversations between the ski patrol, myself, and my family circled around me. The young men unzipped the left leg of my ski suit and rolled it up to look at my swollen knee. Turning away I begin to talk about anything that comes to my tongue. This is how I handle needles and injections from the nurse, I talk talk talk. 

"

Ma'am, relax back into the snow while we take your skies off and carry you to the sled," the young man with sparkling brown eyes calmly stated. I'm thinking that I am too young to be called Ma'am when they whisk me up off the snow and slide me onto a yellow tarped pad. With my head lower than my legs, pointing down the slope I attempt to suggest that I would rather go feet first (something about the days of cowboys and broken legs). They are ignoring me like my children do. 

I watch my surroundings aware of people passing me and staring, suddenly the yellow tarp is pulled over my head, wrapped around my body and I am strapped into it. My heart begins to pound. I can't see the landscape. The voices are undefined for me now, but I know a young man has told my husband and daughter to meet us at the Red Cross sign at the bottom of the hill. 

Before I can take another breath I feel the swish swish of skis pulling me swiftly downhill. Without warning we slide over mogul after mogul and my body rolls and glides like a dolphin through the water. The rush of  sexual sensations flows over my body and I giggle. My hips and pelvis are nearly vibrating. My imagination has now taken over and I'm flushed with excitement. Parts of my body have floated to a new rocky mountain high,  "Oh, God, I think. Please don't pay attention to me."

I am honestly embarrassed? No one can see me. Over a mogul I glide, my body quivers with excitement and my mind has let go of the tension. 

My breathing is faster, my body is quivering, and my brain is ready to explode.

“Red Cross, clear the way,” a young man yells bringing me back to my senses and my reality.

Flat. I feel flat. My breathing slows to long inhales and exhales.  In an instance they unbuckle me and carrying me inside.

"Ma'am, we need you to take your snowsuit off so we can adjust your knee cap." 

Turning to my husband, we slowly begin to unzip and peal my warm pink snow suit from the top of the zipper to my pelvic area, but I cannot pull my busted knee out of the lined leg. With the help of the young boys Jack and I slide, tug and slip off the jumpsuit off until it crumples on the floor. I am thankful for the long underwear. 

With Jack patting me on the shoulder, the two men slowly and gently begin to pull my long underwear off both legs. Within seconds a heated warm blanket is placed across my shoulders and midriff, and I hum quietly to myself: "Take me home, country roads..."

The warmth and relaxation floats down my body to my cold toes. Before I can sit up or move I hear a commanding voice "Ma'am" and I sense gravity at the end of the table. I yell, "My name is Letty."

Jack pats me on the shoulder and someone is laughing in the room, when a young man says, "Ok, Letty this may hurt."

It's not hurting. I've sucked in enough air to float.

Suddenly, I bellow like a cow giving birth as my breath pushes out. 

"Letty, it's over. You can breathe," my husband says.

I glance at my left kneecap sitting correctly on the knee even though it looks like it is sitting on a deflated balloon with the swelling keeping the knee cap in place. With the help from my daughter we pull up the long underwear and ski suit. 

"You may need take a couple of Advil before going to sleep tonight," the young man said as he placed a cardboard cast around my knee, down around the ankle.  Then wraps it with stretchable tape. 

Two weeks later, the knee was healed, and the crutches returned. Looking back, I realize how young I was at thirty-six. 

Decades later, a doctor asked, "When did you tear your ACL?" 

I smiled, remembering the excitement I felt in that yellow bag. " A long time ago," I replied.  

**Thank you Sue Thomas Weese for the lovely Colorado photos.