Well,
it took 42 years, but I finally joined a club I had previously been proud to
NOT be a part of. The Broken Bones club. And I picked a hell of a bone for my
inauguration. It’s called the 5th Metatarsal. And who knew that
breaking this 5th Metatarsal would keep the rest of my bones from
doing the simplest of tasks. Breaking this one little 5th Metatarsal
is changing my life in ways I couldn’t have imagined. I can’t run, I can’t play
basketball (because of the aforementioned inability to run), I can’t stand long
enough to make a sandwich, I can’t take a shower, I can’t even do the dishes! I
hate doing the dishes but right now, at this very moment, I’d kill someone to
do the frigging dishes! It’s truly the worst thing to ever happen in the
history of ever.
Wait!
No it’s not. It’s not even close. So far my diagnosis is fine. Spiral fracture,
6-8 weeks of healing. Or a month and a half to two months if you prefer to
count in larger units, (which, why wouldn’t you? It’s why we have larger units
of measure). OK, so I think that comes in at just about “Annoying” on the
Official Life Adversities scale which, as I’m making it up now, runs on a
spectrum from “Itchy” through “Debilitating” all the way up to “Life Ending.”
So I’ll take “Annoying” any day of the week and twice on whatever day the
cliché normally says.
I
decided to write about this because a lot of you are asking what happened and I
came to the conclusion that I needed to do right by this story and get it down
on cyber-paper.
I
was running to Jack’s school because I had heard about a grizzly bear that was
loose in Burbank. I had been helping my neighbor retile the roof of his garage
so it could better protect the 30 Syrian refugees he is harboring within and I
was repelling back to the ground when I heard the bear sirens. Bear sirens?! On
a Friday? Didn’t seem right. So I tore out of there, ran 8 blocks and made it
to the school just as the bear started to paw at the gate. I distracted the
bear long enough to allow the teachers to evacuate the entire student body to
safety. My son, noticing my struggles with the bear, threw me a ruler and a
pencil sharpener to give me an edge over the bear. Well, needless to say, those
tools helped immensely and I was able to calm the bear down and tickle him
until the animal control people got there. After an hour of accolades and a
make-shift ceremony where the mayor gave me the key to the city, I noticed that
my foot had swelled up. “That must have been from when you dropped kicked the
bear in the face, dad,” said my son, beaming with pride.
“It
sure is, son,” I replied. “I knew I had broken it but I didn’t even stop to
feel the pain because it wasn’t about me. It was about defeating that lunatic
bear. But it was worth it. Saving you and all of your friends and even other
people we don’t even know, it was all worth it.”
“I
love you dad.”
“I
love you too, son. Now, help me limp to the hospital.”
That’s
what happened.
Ok,
fine. Nothing. Nothing happened. I walked outside my back door, off of a step
and onto a cracked brick that I’ve stepped on before, twice, twisting my ankle
both times without any lasting effect. I just did it a little different this
time. I just wanted to go and get laundry out of the dryer quickly before going
to get my son at school. I stepped, ankle went out, heard a crack, went down,
and I said “Oh fuck.” Actually, I said more fucks than that. I actually stood
up (I could stand but I knew it was bad), walked over to the garage door and
started banging on it; one “fuck” per bang.
Then
hopped around for a while, drove myself to urgent care (really nice clean and
empty), hopped in, wheelchair, x-rays, “broken,” splint, crutches, made it to a
pre-planned poker game (determination), weekend on the couch, annoyance,
depression, son and wife huge helps, visitors, bathing (one leg over side of
tub) and here we are.
An
orthopedist told me I don’t need surgery or even a cast, just a boot for 6
weeks or so and crutches for only a couple of those weeks. The biggest blow is I can’t play basketball
for 3 to 4 months. That’s a quarter to a third of a year. But it’s not forever.
So, really, what the hell am even I complaining about?
So
many people, SO MANY PEOPLE, are suffering through way worse things. WAY worse!
Obviously anything can happen but as of right now, my prognosis is fine. So
fuck my inconvenience. It could be so much worse. And, on the bright side, this
injury is making me feel like James Caan in Misery so I should be able to get
some writing done. That’s what happens
in that movie right?
Hell,
I’ve already written my first true blog post since October. So THAT’S something!
Now
if you’ll excuse me, I need to go sit in a different spot in the house cause
this wall is getting boring.
