So who knew that playing Capture the Flag with children at least half my age could be so fun... or so dangerous?

It was a warm day in June. The sun had finally come out after a long weekend of rain. I had been working hard in the camp kitchen all day and was more than a little excited to get out in the fresh air to play with the grade six school that was visiting camp that week. Little did I know that I should have stayed in the kitchen.

I had been assigned to a team, got some blue face paint (a great french mustache and goatee) to designate my team colour and the game commenced. Within 5 minutes of playing, I came crashing to the ground. I had just been collaborating with two grade six children (emphasis on how little these kids were) about the best way to make it past enemy lines without getting caught. We decided that as there were three of us and only two of them that we would just charge past them and at least one of us would make it through to the other side to search for their flag. But that is where the story ends. As I did not find out if either of my compatriots made it through. Just as I passed a meager grade six student, my foot slipped in the wet grass and I fell. Hard. Next thing I knew I was writhing in the grass in pain and my body had forgotten how to get up.

I immediately called for the camp director (who is also my boss), a woman who I have the utmost respect for and would trust her with my life. She could tell right away that something was broken, and although I had already figured that out for myself, she did nothing to either confirm nor deny my suspicions. (Smart Lady). Down the long and oh-so-bumpy gravel roads that usually indicate camps we drove, to the nearest emergency room. The nurse let us in right away. She at first wanted me to move my arm, but when I said I didn't think I could she took one look at my collarbone and decided "No, we're not going to have you move that afterall". Broken collarbone, confirmed.

They sent us immediately to X-ray, where I kept re-counting my tale to anyone who asked, forgetting completely that they probably weren't "camp people" and probably didn't have the slightest idea what I was talking about (something the camp staff still pokes fun at me for). They then led us to a room that was plain white but full of fun toys, that unless you're a doctor, you don't know how to use. We sat for about an hour until the doctor came in to see us. During this time I had to use the facilities and, having only one working arm, had to have my boss do up my pants for me. (Good thing we're so close).

Eventually the doctor came in, we discussed possible surgery (which we decided upon our next visit a week later not to do), proscribed me some heavy pain killers (yeah!!!) and headed back to camp.

I was no longer able to work in the kitchen at camp as before, took a week off work, and upon returning to work was given only light office jobs to do.

I am now 4 weeks into this. It is still hard to lift anything heavier than my cat, who is only about 8 pounds, do up my own bra, or ride over bumps in a car. I'm getting some range of motion back, but it is still impossible to put up my own hair, scratch my back, or put on t-shirts without some varying degrees of discomfort. I'm doing more things at work now, including typing with two hands, cutting my own meat and doing up my own pants. :) Success!

SFO, this one's for you.

Helpful hints to anyone who breaks a collarbone:
- Don't slip in the shower... it hurts like Hell!
- You're going to need to ask people to help dress you or groom you for the first little while.
- Pain killers are your best friend.
- Advil stunts bone growth. When you run out of the fancy painkillers, take something other than Advil, as when I went back for second X-rays, it had hardly healed at all.
- You don't get a cast, but if you're lucky you'll get a fun sling and maybe some wicked bruises. See pictures.