I Fell Off the Wall
At 8:10 PM on 7 January 2024, just before the climbing gym closed, determined to climb the route I'd been working on all day from start to finish, I fell off the wall because of my own stupid mistake.
Later the gym manager said someone had once ruptured their internal organs this way, and a friend said a friend of theirs had hit their head and simply died... Thinking about it like that, it's truly frightening in hindsight.
Out of countless possibilities, I only fractured my L3 vertebra — I was really lucky. I could choose not to have surgery and just rest in bed for a few months.
Along the way I've had a few reflections and lessons. While the fright is still fresh, I'm writing them down as a reminder to the people around me:
Climbing is a dangerous sport. Never get careless just because you're familiar with it; always keep a sense of respect for it. When you love a sport and do it often, the odds of a low-probability event happening go up dramatically.
Staying alert all the time is extremely hard. Safety needs systems to protect it, and those systems must be followed. At the time, I wasn't careless or cocky; my whole body and mind were on the technical moves, and I completely forgot the safety rules. When climbing, you must have a spotter beside you, or an experienced partner.
After an injury, do not move yourself! Do not move yourself! Do not move yourself! Call an ambulance (120) immediately.
After an injury, don't eat anything, and don't drink water either, because you don't know whether your internal organs are damaged.
Stay calm and look after yourself. While waiting for the ambulance, I asked people to help me change out of my climbing shoes, cover me with my down jacket, put on a heat pack, and I put on a mask. These all turned out to be very useful: in the ER you have to wait, and it's very cold if you're not wearing enough; the friend who took me to the hospital didn't wear a mask and caught a cold instead.
If your head is clear, think ahead about where you're injured and what needs to be checked. The ER is chaotic — the doctor even forgot to disinfect the wound on my hand. You have to ask for these things yourself.
There's one more thing... and it's what I've reflected on most deeply this time:
Tell the people who love you right away. When it happened, I didn't tell my family. My mum only found out the next day. It hurt her a lot.
Why didn't I tell her?
First, I was afraid she'd worry; the diagnosis wasn't out yet, and I didn't want her to be frightened. Second, I thought I could handle it myself — her rushing back from out of town wouldn't change how it was handled or how it turned out, so why put her through that at night. Third, I was also really afraid of getting told off.
But looking back, what if my situation had been more critical and I'd lost the ability to make my own decisions? Who would have told her then? Given my condition, I really should have been kept in hospital for observation in case of internal bleeding overnight. But the ER doctor didn't support that, so I went home that same day. If my family had been there, maybe they could have pushed for a better plan for admission.
Why do I want to stress this point in particular as a lesson? Looking back, my brain no longer had the capacity to think through these possibilities; I made the decision on instinct, because instinctively I didn't want her to worry. On reflection, that was bad for her and for me. Hurting each other because of love is the most melodramatic thing in the world.
So next time, telling my family right away should be the default. Trust the people you love — and besides, facing things together is the whole point of being a family. Shutting them out at the very start is also a kind of emotional hurt.
Of course, I hope there won't be a next time.