In preparation to retire from the great U.S. Naval Service after 20+ years at the end of January, I’d been burning all my extranious leave. Thanksgiving at Mom’s house sounded good. Hell, I had tickets to The Other Ones shows in Philly the weekend before Thanksgiving so I figured I’d pack up the wife, Skirmie and spend a week in the City of Brotherly Love.
Heck, I’d gotten everything squared away for my retirement ceremony on January 24 – hall rented, caterer approved, shadow box built, participants notified, award submitted, retirement papers run and invitations sent out – so I deserved a week off to visit with my many siblings.
I attended TOO show Saturday and it rocked – just like the old days with the Dead! Sunday, one of my brothers suggested a game of flag football… and that’s when it kicked in. The syndrome my doctor calls “18-year-old brain in 40-year-old body.”
“You’re damn right I’ll play,” I assured my brothers. “And I’ll run all your young asses ragged!”
The game was great, until I caught a slant up the left sideline, and started high-tailing it towards the proper endzone.
POP!!
I crumpled to the ground (No, I didn’t fumble. I do have that much common sense!). No one hit me. I wasn’t cutting. I was in an easy, 39-year-old gait.
“Jesus, that hurt,” I thought as I stood, brushing myself off. “Shit! It still hurts,” I thought as I fell back to the ground.
Stabbing pain in the knee. Throbbing in the thigh and leg. My brother said he was taking me to the hospital – He heard the pop 15 yards away!
“No,” I told him. “I’ve got to go to The Other Ones show tonight.” Shaking his head in disbelief, muttering what I thought was “What and idiot” he returned to the game.
I discovered I could hobble about if I locked my knee, and didn’t put too much weight on it. “I’ll be fine. I just sprained it.”
I went to the concert – I fell twice.
I got up that night to pee, forgetting I’d “slightly injured” my knee that afternoon, awaking my wife and son with my scream as I fell to the bedroom floor.
I made it through to Thanksgiving without seeing a doc, falls became fewer, but my limp more pronounced. Did you catch that jump in Tylenol stock at the end on November? That was me eating as much of it as my stomach could take.
Finally, that Saturday, my wife forced me to the hospital. Long story short, completely torn PCL, 2 months rehab, followed by surgery, followed by God knows how many more months of surgery.
My retirement is on hold for know. I gotta see a Navy doc and he’ll decide whether I’ll rehab on active duty or whethewr I’ll be put out.
The job I’d hoped for is a pipedream now that I must have physical therapy 3 days a week. I won’t qualify for workman’s comp. The VA benefits wouldn’t kick in for a while. I still can’t do shit.
My wife has a new pet name for me. It’s moron.