If you’ve been a regular reader here at Knuckleballs over the past decade (yes, it’s now been ten years since we launched this site!), you’re used to coming here for sports-related content – usually, but not always, related to the Minnesota Twins and/or their Class A minor league affiliate, the Cedar Rapids Kernels.
It hasn’t all been about baseball here, though. Sometimes, I’ve ventured into Vikings or Hawkeyes material. Occasionally, even something entertainment related.
For the past year or so (maybe longer), however, those posts have become infrequent (to put it mildly). I was actually surprised to discover I hadn’t posted anything here since last April’s Game of Thrones Poll article.
Obviously, I don’t write as often as I used to and, when I do, the feature pieces I do are generally posted at TwinsDaily.com. I may start posting thoughts here again this baseball season. We’ll see.
But, with apologies to Monty Python’s Flying Circus, “Now for something completely different…”
Over three weeks ago, I had surgery on a broken left foot. Having a lot of time on my hands, I’ve spent a lot of time watching sports on TV, binge-watching old shows (did you know Hulu has the complete Mary Tyler Moore Show series for streaming now?) and movies on Netflix and other streaming services and browsing web sites on the computer.
Last week, I was doing some research on my particular condition/surgery and came across a blog/journal written by a woman who had pretty much the same injury and surgery. She had her injury something like six years earlier and decided to write about her recovery experience. Since she did a pretty good job of making regular, quasi-weekly entries, there was a lot of material to read, but I got through all of it before heading to bed.
By the time I finished reading it, I was almost sorry that I had.
Yes, I found value in it. I could see that the entries she posted for the day of her surgery and the first couple of weeks post-surgery very closely tracked my own experiences, both physical and psychological. That was reassuring, to a large degree.
I probably should have stopped there, but I didn’t. I kept reading and the more I read about what the next several months of my life are likely to feel like, the more depressed I got. I questioned whether I was really prepared for dealing with what’s coming up.
The next day, while watching NFL playoff football games and some college basketball, I re-read some of her blog entries and, in doing so, it felt like just going through the exercise of writing about her experiences was somewhat therapeutic for her.
So, I decided that I’m going to do the same thing.
I’m starting a little bit later in the game than she did, since I’m already a month post-injury and over three weeks post-surgery, but I decided I could easily go back and recreate the process since the memories are still very fresh.
As I type this, I don’t even know if I’ll ever post any of this – or even show it to anyone, for that matter. I do already have a web site, Knuckleballsblog.com, where I used to post a lot of baseball-related articles. It has gone virtually dormant since I’ve cut way back on my writing and what I do write usually gets posted on TwinsDaily.com, instead. But I can decide all of those details later.
I guess, if you’re reading this, I must have decided to put it out there, right? Also, if I do post this somewhere, I’m probably going to include pictures we’ve taken along the way. So if that kind of thing grosses you out, I’m sorry.
With that, let’s get started.
December 11, 2019
The Fall
Whenever someone I know sees me for the first time hobbling around with my foot in whatever splint or boot I happen to be wearing, they inevitably ask, “What did you do to your foot?”
That’s natural. I just wish I could tell them.
Of course, I can tell them I broke it and I can even go into some detail concerning which bones were involved, but I have no explanation for how it happened. Not a good one anyway.
I had decided to spend three weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas down in Ft. Myers, Florida, staying at a condo that we bought last May. I flew down there on November 30 and was scheduled to return to Cedar Rapids on December 20.
By the time I got there, I had developed a bit of a chest cold or bronchitis. I tried to fight through it, but eventually went to see a doctor at an acute care center not far from the condo. They gave me a couple of prescriptions and sent me on my way.
After a few days, I was feeling like things were progressing fine on that front.
On the evening of Wednesday, December 11, though, things took a nasty turn.
I was sitting in the recliner in the TV room of the condo, watching TV, and decided my breathing was becoming a little labored. I have a bit of asthma, so when I get bronchitis, some shortness of breath is not unusual. I just take a puff from an albuterol inhaler I keep handy and I’m usually good to go.
This particular evening, however, my inhaler was in my bedroom. So, I stood up from the chair and took about five steps in the direction of my bedroom.
Three things happened then. I think I remember the order, but they happened in very quick succession and, in hindsight, I can’t be 100% certain my memory is accurate. In any event, I got dizzy, my vision faded pretty much to black, and I heard a sharp “POP.”
I do know what the fourth thing in the sequence was, though. It was my landing on the bamboo wood floor.
I knew right away I had broken my foot. I’m not sure how I knew that, exactly. After all, the only broken bone I’d ever experienced in my life to that point was a collarbone I broke playing football when I was 13 years old.
I spent a couple of minutes sitting on the floor, taking stock of my situation, comparing my left foot with my right and confirming the left was already starting to swell. I wasn’t in much pain at all, but I realized that was likely to change very soon.
I scooted on my ass back into the TV room where my cell phone was. I knew, I think, that I needed to call 9-1-1 and get to an Emergency Room. But I didn’t do that right away. Still a bit uncertain about what exactly had happened, I called my wife… who was back in Iowa.
To my credit (or perhaps more accurately, to her credit), I did call 9-1-1 very shortly thereafter.
I scooted again on my ass out through the hall and to the front door to unlock it and wait for the ambulance. I also realized I wasn’t exactly dressed in anything close to a presentable manner, so I then scooted into the bedroom and managed to pull at least pull on a clean t-shirt. Then, back on my ass, I scooted out to the door again.
The EMTs were great and managed to get me loaded into a mobile chair. They slowly carried me down the outside stairs from the second-story condo unit, then they transferred me to a gurney, loaded me into the ambulance and off we went.
I still really wasn’t in much pain and was able to carry on pretty normal conversations with the EMTs all the way to the hospital. Once there, I was moved into a room in the ER, where I spent the next four hours or so.
Up front, I just want to say that literally everyone I dealt with at the hospital was incredibly nice, while still very professional. Doctors, nurses, technicians… everybody… treated me like a person and seemed to really enjoy the work they did with patients. Maybe it was because they were used to dealing with patients in all manner of pain and discomfort, and I was being relatively accepting of my situation. But I chose to just believe they were all genuinely nice people.
They brought an x-ray machine in, but when the results were available, the doctor felt I needed a CT scan as well. He said he believed I probably had what’s called a Lisfranc injury, but they would need the CT scan to confirm it.
They had to take me to another area for the CT scan, but again the employees pushing me around on the gurney were really pleasant, as were the people doing the CT.
After those results were back, the doctor indicated he had spoken with a specialist and, while even the CT results weren’t absolutely conclusive, they were almost certain I had the Lisfranc break and would be needing surgery… and soon.
Lisfranc, he explained, was a middle foot injury where the metatarsals meet. In my case, at the juncture of my first and second metatarsals. It also generally includes ligament damage and, if so, it means you’re going to need some hardware screwed in there to stabilize the middle foot.
They wrapped up my foot and calf in a splint and bandages and discharged me with a referral to a local orthopedic surgeon that I was supposed to make an appointment with the following week. They also gave me a prescription for Percocet, for pain, but I didn’t even get that filled. I simply wasn’t having all that much pain.
Like I said, this all took place the night of December 11 and I was’t scheduled to return to Iowa until December 20. We talked about how you really don’t want to have surgery done by one surgeon and see a different one for follow-up (which makes perfect sense), so I obviously wanted to have the surgery done back in Cedar Rapids. Although, I’d be lying if I said the thought of using the injury as an excuse to spend all winter and spring in Florida didn’t run through my mind.
Once the “stay in Florida” option was pretty much nixed, the next decision was whether or not I would wait until after I returned home on the 20th, as scheduled, to see a surgeon.
I talked to the nurse at my personal physician’s office about getting a referral. That part was easy. But we were coming up on the Holidays and the odds of getting an appointment and surgery scheduled in anything resembling a prompt manner seemed long.
While I was still having that internal debate, I ended up back at the ER the following night.
I’d read my discharge information thoroughly and there were instructions to return to the ER if I noticed that my toes got cold, turned pale or turned blue. And that afternoon, I could see the tips of my toes (the only part of my foot visible) were distinctly turning darker.
So, I called Lyft and off I went back to the ER.
That turned out to be an unnecessary trip, though. My toes were turning dark for a very logical reason… my entire foot was beginning to show significant bruising. That included my toes.
I admit I spent those first couple of days being really depressed. I was alone, 1500 miles from home, with a broken foot and no idea what was coming next.
By Friday morning, I’d had a revelation.
I don’t know why I even considered sticking around Florida until my scheduled return flight on the 20th, but the fog in my mind finally cleared that morning and it became clear to me that I needed to get home as soon as possible.
My mental state was better, as well. I recognized that so many people have much more serious issues than a broken bone. For me, it would just be a matter of time – and perhaps some surgery – before I’d be as good as new. We all know a lot of people who are not as fortunate.
Luckily, I was able to get on a flight home early Saturday morning, a full six days earlier than planned. That allowed me to get an appointment with the Orthopedic surgeon for Tuesday, the 17th and surgery scheduled for Friday the 20th… the date I would have flown home if I’d stuck to my original schedule.
The injury and premature return home meant I didn’t get much of the condo cleaned up before I left, so I guess I’ll have to deal with that when I get down there next.
Unfortunately, that won’t be as quickly as I’d hoped.