What the hell happened? I intercepted a pass. The ball went high in the air and I ran after it. My plan was to run along side it, bring it back and settle it, waiting for midfielder support. As I went to gather the ball, my foot slid over it, stuck in the turf and my body kept going. I thought I was dreaming because I NEVER get hurt. I hit the ground and looked down at my ankle, which is turned in an unnatural direction and realized: I’m f*cked. Guys around me are yelling to call 911. I lay back, grab my head, and try to deal. I breathe like I never have breathed before.
Yet for all the commotion and pain, I tried my best to be zen about the whole thing. I thought about Maceo a lot and about Iraqi children losing limbs in bombing runs. I thought about Wifey going through labor without an epidurl. The fellas tried to keep things positive, reassured me the ambulance was coming to which I mentally started singing “911 is a Joke.” When your foot is turned a different direction, time goes by s-l-o-w.
The fire department finally shows up. I get smacked out on morphine, which doesn’t really take the pain away, but helps dial down your anxiety. By the time I hit the hospital, I’ll have ingested 15 mgs of morphine. By the time I get to x-ray, which included two soul sucking bone resets, I’d take 12 more. The prognosis: deformed ankle, 90% dislocation, bone fracture. I get a steel plate and six screws and a placard that says I can park in the handicapped spot.
I also got a night at the hospital, sharing a tiny room with two grumpy old men, one without a hearing aid, the other in for what sounded like a colostomy procedure. Didn’t get to sleep much as periodic rounds kept me up. I really missed being home in my bed and couldn’t wait to tear out the IV’s and get discharged.
I get sent home with a Limbaugh-sized script for painkillers, and a temporary brace, which I exchange in ten days for a hard cast. When I got discharged, home was the best anesthesia. Being able to feed Maceo, read and play with him did amazing things for my psyche. I started getting hungry again. My new boss is bringing my computer over today to set me up so I can do some things and get paid. I’m pretty much back to normal, except for the walking thing. (And constipation. To paraphrase ATCQ: My shits are hard like two-three day old shit!)
As for chasing Maceo around, it’s super frustrating. I can’t put any weight on the leg, which immediately excises things like picking him up out of the crib or changing diapers. Wifey is going to have double duty for a while until I get those powers back. Back to rehabbing…
SD
11 comments:
RoboDad,
Man that sucks. Who the hell put that bottom screw in, it's like 45 degrees off and then there's that floating one left behind for shits and giggles. I wish you a speedy recovery and share in your pharmaceuticals with your permission.
Hey wait a second, you said six screws? There are seven screws.
Sorry to hear about your mishap and get well soon.
My first thought was that NinjaDad had gotten to you. :)
Would he then still be living? I have officially posted my complaint about my interview on my blog by the way.
Oh and SoccerDad, let me know if there is anything I can bring you, like In-n-out, a frozen lasagna, or perhaps a ponytailed Head on a stick.
Dude... Hope you feel better soon (sure the painkillers will help).
You old farts should stay off the field man. Or else bad things happen. Get well soon, Soccer Dad.
Did your team win?
I strongly suppose you will have a lot of time to kill! email me at david@electronictimecapsule.com and I will provide you with a free account. You won't be able to say you didn't get anything from your broken ankle!
The pins! AHHH!
But aren't the painkillers good?
Heal fast!
Ouch! Here's to a speedy recovery.
Damn, that sucks. Why is that one screw so way out of place?
Oh the screw? Just an extra thing to anchor the bone together. Or hang pics from.
Got my cast on, but it looks like sneakers. More in a bit.
SD
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