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OAHU DIARY 5
17 Aug 2003
I gotta make lemonade. Of lemons. After all my
fantastic experiences in Hawaii, making you feel bad,
envious, left out, it finally happened. Finally? Well
it happened right away.
I write four Oahu Diarys, and, bingo, my right
Achilles Tendon snaps. It was the sand. No, it was the
water. No, it was the moonlight. No, the sunlight. No,
I got mugged. Actually, it was a shark. No, he didn't
actually attack me. He came up to me, scared me to
death, and I just twisted my body over to the right,
and bingo!, didn't I say that already?, the Achilles
snapped. No, I jist said that.
Actually, it was Courtney's fault. For three weeks he
just begged and begged me to play him in racketball.
Well, I wouldn't say this to everybody, but I can just
whip his butt in racketball. See, I played racketball
since I was about 20 or so.
I was an international champion. Well, national
champion. No, actually, state champion.
Well, the truth is, I was the family champion. Till
Jeff and Jonathan and Courtney each got about 15.
I remember the shame I felt the day Courtney, 15, beat
me in racketball. It was at LeMaster's Center in West
Chester, Pennsylvania.
I remember his words, "I took it easy on dad." I made
the mistake of getting a family membership. Each boy
grew up on racketball, each beat me up.
Mothers, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Play
Racketball.
Where was the home teacher? The bishop? Can't somebody
teach a teenage boy a little respect?
I mean, I worked hard to give these boys every
advantage. And, what do I get? I get my butt beat in
racketball by each one of them. Well, that's it. No
more. I officially withdraw.
No longer will I be embarrassed by young
whippersnappers. I'll never again play another
racketball game. With them. With anybody. That should
be punishment enough.
Doctor
says mebby I should get into a little less
punishing game: Walking the beach, swimming in the
pool, traveling to the restaurant.
Here's the scoop:
On the court with Court, I bend forward to make a
shot. My foot stays in my new athletic shoes, and Pop!
Goes the Achilles. I lay on the floor, say immediately
to Court, "I severed my Achilles Tendon."
Courtney touches it, "Yep," clinician that he is. He
helps me out to a bench. I sit. Vision goes black.
That's why they call it blacking out.
I lay on the floor, get blood into my brain, feel
better.
To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall, to
the top of the hospital, to the emergency room. $400
for two blocks in the ambulance. Then the emergency
doctor pokes my ankle. "Yup," he says.
Then on to the orthopedic, upstairs, who pokes, says,
"Yepper," and that's it. The old ruptured Achilles
Tendon Trick.
Those "Yups" cost me $600, and now I'm off to San
Antonio to have Jonathan's associate, Dr. Darren
Sylvester, slice me up and put me together again.
Then, it will be three weeks mending there, and then
back to Oahu, to spend 9 weeks clumping around in a
Velcro boot.
Then, freedom, once more.
If I had it to do over, knowing the outcome. . . . But
then who knows the outcome of anything?
So, faced with the same choices, I'd a done the same
thing. Cuz, I love racketball. Now, a game of my past.
Excuse me, its lemonade-time.
Copyright 2003 Paul L. Tripp |
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OAHU
DIARY 6
11 SEPT 2003
On August 15, 2003, I ruptured my right Achilles
Tendon playing racketball in my new digs, Oahu. On the
22nd, I had it surgically reattached by Dr. Darren
Sylvester, DPM, in Pleasanton, TX.
It all worked fine, but he left a 4 inch cut down my
heel. Not long ago I had a hang nail. And, I remember
I cut my left thumb with a screwdriver a year ago. Not
smart. Those things hurt.
But let a guy leave a 4 inch wound on your heel. Now,
that's inconvenient. To say nothing of the pain. And,
he cut deep. I asked him not to do that.
Doctors. What Doctor listens? I remember those first
days. I'd put my foot down on the floor and it felt
like he left a knife in there. Or, a Choreboy.
So, I have been recuperating at son Jonathan's home,
midst four grandchildren. I sleep. I sit. I now walk a
little. It hurts little now.
So, I sit here, noon, Thursday. In bed. It feels
great. I beat it up yesterday, went to the RiverWalk
in San Antonio. With a female friend, I admit. But,
I'm talking about my foot. It swelled although little.
I ice it lots. Every time it swells. Jonathan says. I
bought the reusable gel packs at Walmart. Freeze them
over and over, and put them down in my loose sock.
Under that, I have a support knee high sock. That
keeps the foot from swelling. It also cuts off
circulation and the foot is going green. Could that be
a problem?
It feels good, and I walk on it a little. No more
crutches. Anybody wanna buy crutches?
And, by the way. If you rupture your Achilles, feel
free to call. Or, email. I know a lot about it now.
Like, ice packs. And, elevated foot. And, getting the
7 year old grand child to bring you a drink of ice
water. Getting to the bathroom the first couple days.
Conning the daughter-in-law into serving you a chicken
sandwich in bed. Getting broad band internet via
wireless
router so I can lay in bed, connected, using
my Apple PowerBook G4. Fixing the remote so I can
watch any of four--count 'em, four--local TV channels.
The foot? Oh, yeah, the foot: Wearing the velcro-strap
boot that clomps. Pumping its innards with air to push
into the foot tissues. Getting the grandkids to put
the boot on. Right. Sleeping with the boot. On.
Keeping a Sunny Slope Brand Carolina Peaches wooden
box on the double bed edge, next to the wall, in which
I keep my V8 juice, Discover Magazine, 16 ounce
package of fresh Walmart pecans, my Pentax Optio
Digital Camera battery recharger, Norelco shaver,
airplane eticket folder, two pens and three empty
walmart-plastic-shopping-bags
-just-to-have-handy-for-garbage,
and of course, the PowerBook.
And, learning to drive with my left foot. And, there's
more.
Getting sympathy responses with the boot and crutches
at Walmart, and at church, and with a local female
friend who'll drive me anywhere. Now, that's power.
I'm gonna keep the boot and crutches. Even after I'm
well. There'll be times I can use 'em.
After all, a guy can always use a boot.
Copyright 2003 Paul L. Tripp
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