tmo

Day 2

I woke up without my alarm this morning. The power outage from the night before made for a quiet start to the day at Perkins Sq. Perhaps all of the door slammers and morning shouters overslpet.

I awoke at 7 AM to my impossibly stiff left leg, frozen in place over the pillows used to elevate my swollen knee. The swelling is full on now. By the early light of day, the reality of this injury came crashing down. I block the sight of this reality with a pillow over my face and pound the palms of my hands into my muffled brow. I replay that fateful step that broke me. My mind, refreshed from sleep, cleared of the shock, exhaustion and ibuprofren gladly replays the feeling of my leg bending unaturally I relive the snap/sproing of once taught ligaments and tendons giving way. I feel nautious.

I reset my alarm clock, cheerily flashing it's best guess at the time, and opt for another hour of sleep. I am unready to face this day.

I awake another hour into the day and begin to reconstruct myself under this new edict. The cocksure attitude I held last night on the fields and at Volker's vanishes with the undeniable stiffness and swelling that invaded my knee last night. Unable or just unwilling to stretch, the injury feels compounded by my sore, tight, post tournament muscles.

My room reflects my state of mind. Cleats and jerseys are scattered about the floor like guilty accomplices laid to waste. An immobilization brace snuggles under the covers of my bed and an ace bandage intertwines with the sheets leading the way to a watery ice pack. I begin to reconstruct myself. A shower is necessary, but not before attending to the call of nature. These are the tidbits of information you want on your discharge sheet. The basic "How do I deal with the simple process of life with a broken part of me?" I decide to slide and squat in a fashion that is anything but graceful until I can catch myself with aid of the nearby sink and lower seat to seat. My left leg splays out stiffly across the bathroom floor. So far so good.

The shower is the next task. Fortunately there are ample handholds and I manage to remove the sunscreen and grime that covers my limbs. I tenderly scrub both knees and begin to feel a little more human. After my shower, I shave and examine the weary soul staring back at me. I grit my teeth and shift my weight. I need to know what still works down there. I feel the stubborness welling up inside. I can beat this. I can overcome. I better take it slow.

I dress for the day and don my immobilizer. The walk to the T-stop takes 12-15 minutes on a good day. I expect I will double this time today.

Posted by at June 30, 2003 11:59 PM