JUST DO(ING) IT, part 2

The E-R is 4 weeks post-op and would like to apologize profusely for the big gap between blog posts! Initially- actually getting to my desktop (or the kitchen, or the bathroom...etc.) was nothing less than a small expedition, requiring a mule and a Sherpa. Once I landed at my desk I found that each time I began to write, there was this Vicodin-Voice speaking for me that made no sense whatsoever. Also, since this injury (aka The Heel Ordeal) was still new to me, I had so much anger, frustration and grief that my overall tone was completely  negative- and who the hell wants to listen to Debbie Downer?  So, it is with a much different take on things as I post today, rather than if I had posted 2 or 3 weeks ago.

On the day of my surgery I show up at the hospital with my admissions paperwork. (READ: a yellow post-it note basically saying, "K needs surgery today. Signed, Epstein's DOCTOR"). I was in a defensive stance, ready for the questions pertaining to the legitimacy- the legality- of such a pathetic and unofficial document but when I was asked, "Who is your doctor?" I answered, and got an "Oh, (eyeballs rolling up, accompanied by the half-smirk), okay".
I'm thinking, "Hmm... inside joke or red flag number one?" I let it go.
Eventually, I am in a bed and after a battery of questions, health history, medical allergy disclaimers, a family tree diagram, surveys, waivers, and signing over my firstborn as liability collateral, I meet Mr. IV Guy.
"Hi, I'm so-and-so, and I'm going to get your IV started."
He's nice enough, even cute...not quite what I was expecting but he had some scruff and these huge blue eyes. Suddenly, I'm feeling all modest in my overly provocative, ties-in-the-back, but, not tied johnny. (What?!? It chokes me!) He seems to be all thumbs, nervous; there's an obvious unfamiliarity between him and the other staff, and with the equipment as well. Clearly he's half my age so, is he new? The most-junior man? A rookie. As I'm giving my friend a look, he asks one of the nurses, "Umm...can you tell me where the pole is located on her bed so I can hang up the IV bag?"
Instant Red Flag. 
"Sure, it's on the right hand corner at the top." 
After several unsuccessful attempts to extend it higher, he asks the same Nurse, "How do I extend it?" Second Red Flag. 

 Aside: Normally, in everyday situations I have a 3 Red Flag tolerance. But, when it comes to health and medical stuff, there is a 2-flag limit. (Plus, I had already let a possible red flag go at the admissions desk...)

I begin to closely scrutinize the faces of everyone around me. Especially the ones who are wearing the SARS masks...Which one is he?  And that is when I ask. Out loud. The only logical question for this situation:

"Hey. Am I being punk'd?"

Mr. IV Guy starts cracking up, because again- he's half my age, so he totally gets it. He then explains that he's from Beth Israel Hospital in Boston, doing a rotation in suburban hospitals, and that it's not that he doesn't know what he's doing; he just doesn't know where everything is around here (and how it works, apparently). My IV goes in, and after the back of my hand blows up to the size of a golf ball, we discover a 'kink' in the line, or perhaps it was a blown vein...I don't know but whatever; he straightens it out and he's on his merry way. That's when my friend goes to sit back down - only to find the bandages, the leftover sticky stuff to keep the cannula in my hand straight, and the small syringe - empty of its numbing solution; there they are... on her chair. Whoops. She calls to him down the hall...."Hello....?"

I'm doing okay now, right? Good to go? No.
I mean, sure- my viciously  parched, dehydrated,  Shar Pei skinned self was starting to fluff back up with the IV fluid, but the immediate priority now became pain management. I was told to eat and drink nothing before surgery which I assumed included Motrin, so I was in agony...

But before I go on with that story, I want to get back to the title of this post. Why is this called JUST DO(ING) IT, when, based on what I've written so far sounds like it should be entitled "The Heel Ordeal"?
So, back to the original theme.

When people ask me what happened, I find myself needing to distinguish clearly, the fact that this injury happened while I was playing soccer, and not because I was playing soccer.

Another aside: It's way cooler to be able to say that, by the way, than having to say, "I was running to answer the phone" or, "I was food shopping and realized I sailed right past the Fruity Pebbles so I turned quickly to go back and grab a box..."

I think I answer this way, more for my benefit than theirs. Honestly, this has been more of a "head" injury for me than a leg injury. I need to convince myself that I will get back to DOING everything I did before I got hurt. I find myself in good company at least, of others who have had the same injury: David Beckham, Dan Marino, Gabe Kapler, "The Rock" aka Wayne Johnson, Dominique Wilkins, Vinny Testaverde, even George Clooney AND Brad Pitt. See, I need to know this because it keeps me going. It motivates me; they all healed and went back to doing.
And that's where I'm at. Everyday. Just doing it...a little, tiny bit more each day.

My next post will address Things that one should, and shouldn't do while on crutches...

Final Aside: Referring back to the pain I was having prior to my surgery -
Oh yeah. They gave me something. My last thought as I'm wheeled to the O.R. ?
"Oh Maaaan! I hope my ties-in-the-back, but, not tied johnny does not fall open when they flip me onto my stomach for this operation...."
Then, BANG. Lights out. I never even saw the entrance to the OR....