Adventures in Orthopedics

Ahhh... Softball.

Yesterday, Saturday, was a beautiful day for softball, warm but not hot, nice and sunny. Met up with the Ballbreakers in front of the Dugout, only a few minutes late. We loaded up my car and headed out to Randall's Island. We had a good hour to practice, and made the most of it. Then it was game time. We were going up against the Renegades, a team we beat before. I was batting twelfth in the lineup, and made it to the plate in the first inning. I let the first pitch go by me. It was a strike. The second pitch was a ball. The third pitch was outside, also a ball. The fourth looked good. I swung, but just clipped it. Another strike. Two balls, two strikes. Here's the pitch, looked good, I swung and connected, and sent it out just past the first baseman. I ran like hell for first base.

But not in time. It was split second close, but the firstbaseman for the Renegades got his glove on the ball just before my foot hit the plate.

Unfortunately, the firstbaseman had his right foot extended behind him touching the plate as he reached for the ball. Extended behind him over all of the plate. So he tripped me. I went flying. And at some point I heard and felt a snap in my ankle.

I picked myself up off the grass beyond first base. The umpires came over, the firstbaseman and our first base coach came over.

"Y'okay?"

Yeah. I'm okay.

I picked myself up and dusted myself off, and walked back to the bench.

Yo! Maybe not okay. That's a little tender.

Ooooh. That's a lot tender.

By the time I made it around the backstop, I was hopping on one foot. I sat down on the bench and told the coach, "I'm out of this game."

A bag of ice was procured, and I kept my right foot propped up on top of the cooler.

I was definitely not okay.

At one point, I gingerly put my foot on the ground and tried to walk. No dice. I couldn't put any weight on it at all.

At this point, I started to get a little bit panicky. I was in New York City. I had to drive home an hour and a half. It was my right ankle--the one that works the pedals--that was messed up. Uh oh.

Oh. And we were losing. Bad. The final score was something like 23 to 1. Bad bad bad.

What if it's broken? How will I drive? If I can get to work, how will I work?

I wanted Big to be there, to help me think, to tell me everything would be alright. My cellphone was in my gear bag, and I couldn't even get to it.

Oh. And we were losing.

We've been losing a lot this season. Eleven losses, five wins. A little bit more critical of each other. A little bit more tending to complain, about the weather, the fields, the trips out to Randall's Island, the other teams. Having a little less fun. That's tough, of course. It's more fun when you're winning. But that's softball.

But what the hell was I going to do? I pictured myself trying to drive home, clutching the steering wheel white-knuckled, hurting hurting hurting. Or sitting in an emergency room. X-rays. Getting the bad news.

I know a guy who coming down the stairs to catch the subway in flip-flops landed wrong on his foot on the bottom step. He broke one of those innumerable wee tiny bones in his foot. And wore a cast on his leg for nine months. At the end of nine months, the cast came off, they took x-rays, and found that the wee tiny bone had healed wrong. It had to be rebroken. And he had to spend another nine months wearing a cast. For a total of eighteen months. In a walk-up apartment in New York City. On crutches. He's told me how your whole life changes when you're on crutches. Every aspect. You get up in the morning. You pour yourself a cup of coffee. Okay. Now how are you going to get over to the chair to sit down and have your coffee. (You get a travel cup and wear it around your neck on a lanier.)

Oh. My. God.

I want my Sir. I want to be able to go to stay with my Sir until I'm all better. I want to be taken care of. I can't do this. Oh no no no no no. A broken foot. This is awful.

Sir wasn't there, but Ballbreakers were. Getting my bag for me. Proferring me Ibuprophen. Refreshing my bag o' ice. Helping me get to my jeep.

Once in the jeep, I took an experimental tour around the field.

Huh. It wasn't too difficult to drive. As long as I didn't have to brake hard. And even then, I could probably manage with my left foot to hit the brake pedal.

Huh. Okay.

I rode in the back seat going into the city. I was still feeling a little shakey and vulnerable. Donee, our pitcher, offered to put me up for the night. I called my father and gave him the bad news. I wouldn't be home. He was, of course, verrrry upset.

I started to come around. Driving up the West Side Highway, traffic was slow. In the next car, I noticed this very hot man. With a woman in the passenger seat, a little boy in the back seat, and an American Flag sticker, a 'Semper Fi' sticker, and a metal fish gracing the bumper of his car.

A very hot, straight, Republican, fundamentalist Christian Dad.

Since he could only see my upper torso from where I was sprawled in the back seat, I started jerking my hand furiously in my lap and leering at him. Sadly, he didn't notice. He never looked over to see the vision of the maniacal fag in the backseat of the jeep apparently jerking off and drooling at him. Sadly.

Back at Ty's, I installed myself on a barstool--actually two barstools, one for my foot. Since I wouldn't be driving, I decided that it would be fine to get a little drunk. How long has it been since I did that?

I ordered a Stoly Cosmo. Vodka when I hadn't had anything to eat all day save for a couple of Luna Bars ('Complete Nutrition for Women... ...and me') and an Ensure.

Danny the bartender made a great Cosmo, and I was soon feeling pretty good. The Ballbreakers did their best to keep me company as I couldn't very well move around the bar. Although at one point, when a very drunk man wearing no shirt sauntered up and started talking to me, a certain Ball Breaker who will remain nameless (Mark!) turned away, leaving me to fend for myself.

Shirtless Guy slurred something at me. I smiled and said, "I broke my ankle. I'm in pain." He slurred something else and tried to grope me. "Careful!" I said firmly, "I just broke my ankle. And I'm in a lot of pain." The second time it seemed to sink into his addled brain and he moved on. I grabbed the nameless Ball Breaker (Mark!) and said, "Don't ever do that again."

Mark laughed. I laughed.

At this point, one Cosmo under my belt, I was feeling no pain.

Drinking is such fun! I should do a lot more of it!

And then this guy came over.

"Softball injury?" he inquired.

"Yup!" I said.

He put his hand underneath my toes. "Can you push against it?" he asked. I could, and did. Then he cupped his fingers over my toes. "Now pull." I pulled. He said there didn't seem to be a lot of swelling. I told him I had kept it iced and elevated since it happened four hours ago.

"I'm an orthopedic surgeon at St. Luke's," he said, "Would you like me to take a look at it?"

No way.

Way!

What are the chances?

Go to an emergency room? You've gotta be kidding! Me?!! Rub elbows with the hoi polloi? Take me to a gay bar. Stet!

I climbed down off my barstool. "Put your weight on the ball of your foot," advised my doctor, "Not the heel."

Oh. Right. That's not so bad.

Outside, I had a smoke while the doctor examined my ankle. (Love that!)

He determined that it probably wasn't broken, just 'soft tissue damage,' like a torn ligament or tendon. The important thing was to not let it swell. Keep it iced and elevated above my heart. It should heal in a week or so, but if it swells up, it will take ten weeks.

Thanks, Doctor!

I hobbled back inside. Our pizza had arrived.

After three slices, Donee and I caught a cab back to his apartment on West 30th Street.

Donee took care of me. He was perfect. He got me on the bed and propped my foot up, then fixed me an iced coffee. Together, we watched a Star Trek movie (one with the Borg, and they go back to the 21st Century where this guy is on the verge of changing human history by discovering warp speed, and Mr. Data has sex with the Borg woman because she gives him real skin. That one).

Then we watched South Park. Unfortunately, none of the episodes featured Mr. Slave. (J'sus Chris'.) During Star Trek, we ordered food from Intermezzo. I had two appetizers--crab cakes and tuna carpaccio since I had filled up on pizza. Then, I went to sleep on the bed, and Donee went to sleep on the sofa bed. Donee snores, and I had that ankle situation, but as usual, I slept the sleep of the innocent. Like a rock.

The next morning, Donee had to sing at a church. While he headed to Starbucks to get me a latte, I managed to make my way into the shower. Shockingly, Donee washes with soap! And he has a really bad moisturizer situation going on. I think I see a way to say 'thank you' for his kindnesses. But, I made due with the soap and the handcream moisturizer.

Then it was time to head out into the wide world.

At this point, I was in a much better frame of mind.

This will be another adventure! That's the way I usually look at things like this. It's an adventure. It'll hurt. It'll make a great story. I will encounter kind people. It'll be fine.

I struggled down 30th Street to 9th Avenue to catch a cab, pausing to grimace, wince, and sip my latte. No prooblem at all getting a cab, who took me down to wear my jeep had been parked on Washington between Perry and Charles. Once I piled into my jeep, all was fine. There was just about no traffic going through the tunnel, or on 78. I stopped in Clinton, New Jersey to get gas. Because of the weird traffic pattern when you come off of 78, II had to make a right and go into town so I could turn around and stop at the gas station across the street. Danged if there was no place to turn around for about a mile. Then, I spotted a pharmacy on the left side of the road and pulled into their parking lot.

Wait.

A pharmacy.

Pharmacies sell... crutches.

I hopped on one foot across the parking lot and into the Eckerd's, getting a cart on the way. They did have crutches.

(Trust me to turn wrecking my ankle into an excuse for shopping, huh?)

My crutches are brushed aluminum, and Barbie Doll flesh colored foam rubber. Sweeet!

Crutches are great things! I fly on my crutches! Seriously, I can move.

Before I headed off on the road, I gave a call to the Baron to let him know that I would probably have to cancel. I wouldn't be able to make it to Philadelphia to do Pride festivities with him. Dang. That was a hard phone call. Luckily, the Baron was very understanding.

Armed with my crutches, I felt ready to take on the world. Singing along with the radio, I zipped right by the gas station. No matter, I could fill up when I got to Frenchtown.

And whaddya know! I paid less than $2.00 a gallon for the first time in weeks! Love that!

Once home, the first order of business was to walk Faithful Companion. My father had taken F.C. out twice, but dogs being creatures of routine, F.C. didn't get what was going on and didn't pee. (He probably thought it was odd that this guy who gives him table scraps took him all the way outside and didn't come across with any pizza crusts.)

Dad was much relieved to see me home.

Okay. Now that you're all up to date, I'm gonna fix myself something to eat. Gotta get to bed early tonight, since it will take me about twice the time it normally does to get ready for work tomorrow morning. And I'm due in at 7 am.

Oh. Let me back up.

The first thing I did when I got home, still sitting in the driveway, was call Big. Y'see, I had taken off his collar when I played softball, and wanted to be talking to him on the phone when I put it back on. Big wished me well, said agreed it would be great if I were there or he were here to take care of me, but that can't be, and wished me a speedy recovery.

And, Big's collar is back around my neck. Where it belongs.

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