Flail Chest

I get stuck sometimes.  But usually I can dig myself out in an hour or less.  Last week was different.  I got badly stuck and needed help.  It took five of us two hours to get out.  The problem was that I slid into the bar ditch (on the uphill side of the road) and the driver's side of the truck was wedged against the bank.  We dug the bank away, but got into some tree roots.  I got up with one foot on the saw box and one foot on the bank and used my chainsaw to cut away the roots.  Shutting off the saw, I turned to jump from the bed of the truck and lost my footing.  I did a swan dive onto the snow-packed road, landing directly on my rib cage.  I heard a crack and found that I could no longer breathe.  Rolling over onto my back, and without any oxygen going to my brain, I saw a bright light and heard heavenly voices.  I thought I must be hearing the greeting of St. Peter, but it turned out that a couple of colleagues were criticizing me for laying down in the mud while there was still work to do, and the bright light was simply the sun in my eyes.  After two or three shallow gasps, I was indeed able to stagger to my feet and return to the (earthly) work of shoveling.  I have to say, though, that it was a tough start to the morning.  After three or four days, I am beginning to be able to breathe deeply again, although I have to admit that it works best after I've swallowed some Oxycodone.