I sneezed this morning and did exactly that. One of the last couple ribs in my left lower back. I knew: "What I'd done" immediately. I have fractured, broken, bruised and separated various ribs over the years. While working, playing and/or just being stupid.
Once, I was rammed into the gunnels of a fishing boat, at speed. Four broken ribs. Another time, I fell down a half-sawn log staircase at a guy's cabin in Alaska. While drunk, in the dark, at a big party in the partially finished cabin with no guard rail on the stairs. "X" number of broken ribs. Bicycle wreck in Salt Lake City, 30+ broken bones with "X" number of ribs involved. (I'm purposely "underplaying" that one, for the moment) Flag football, (VERY AGGRESSIVE FLAG FOOTBALL) Pittsburgh, Pa., a couple of severely bruised ribs. Coughing while having Pneumonia at a Salmon cannery in Petersburg, Ak., many separated ribs. They "sent me home," which was a trade-off kind of affair: I got paid, a "free" Alaska Ferry System ride to Seattle and spent the three day trip with my head in the lap of a pretty nurse in The Solarium Deck of the M/V Columbia. Then, I got to go home and "get well."
I was/am/may always be The Injury Kid in my Family. My Mom has long said that: "If they ever hit the main stitch on you, Kid, you'll simply 'unravel' into a pile of nylon/catgut and scar tissue" A short list of childhood injuries:
1. VERY badly broken nose. I was a Fat Kid and we were playing "beat the door and run." My highly charged, terminal velocity of inertia body was hauling ass across a lawn. I forgot about the boat trailer. As I tried to jump over the angle iron frame, I caught my foot in some electrical wiring going to the tail lights. I woke up with a BIG pool of blood below my face and felt for pieces of it. My entire nose was under my left eye. I tried to "adjust it" back to shape and pissed myself. Then, I ran home and reported to Admiral Mom. My Stepfather, less the Trouper, passed out cold. Then we made a beeline for Balboa Naval Hospital. They sewed my nose back on. As I grow older, the nose is "migrating" toward my left ear.
2. Hung myself off of the top of a 20' tall chain link fence while going to retrieve a baseball. You know the "spikes" on top of those fences? One of them tore a really cool War Wound from my upper inner arm and then got stuck in my elbow bone(s). I pulled myself up, (nothing but pure adrenaline) with my left hand and dropped to the ground. A good first-hand lesson in bicep muscular anatomy. Another trip to Balboa Naval.
3. Jumping on parents' bed and nearly severing left earlobe completely. I can still feel where the scar is.
4. Got hit by a '37 deSoto while chasing a ball. Just bumps, bruises and a brief period of unconsciousness. A '37 deSoto is a like an overgrown Water Buffalo with a Straight 8 engine. DO NOT CHARGE ONE!
5. Completely shattered heart after asking the Pretty Girl That Lived On The Corner if she'd: "Go Steady With Me" at about age 10 or so and she ran away, laughing hysterically.
6. Numerous, lesser issues involving stitches and minor surgeries. "Removal of fish hook from thumb after wrestling with my younger brother for control of a Hula Popper lure" comes to mind...
My most significant injury remains: Wrecking my really nice, expensive, Bridgestone MB-1 bicycle on a city street in SLC, Utah. 30+ broken bones from neck to left shoulder and many, many ribs. Torn cartilage centered around left shoulder, hitting my head so hard that I couldn't feel my left leg below mid-thigh for 6 months, complete fracture of scapula, shattered collar bone and fractures of right wrist and neck vertebrae.
I hit an unmarked "road patch" on a city street. The front tire slid out and I attempted to "self-correct" out of the slide by counter-steering. As I hit "real pavement" again, the front rim folded in half. I woke up on the sidewalk. Of course, the first thing I wanted to know was: "How is my bike?"
Being in shock from the injuries, I flagged down some kids in a pickup truck, asked them to (a) "Take me to a liquor store" and (b) "Take me and my busted ass bike, home." I honestly didn't realize how badly I'd been hurt for the next two days. I laid in bed, taking 800mg Ibuprofen and drinking whiskey. The third day, my Roommate said: "Get up. We're taking you to a doctor."
The East Indian Doctor, a slight, delightfully pretty, youngish woman, came out waving my x-ray film saying: "Oh, my goodness, Mister Doc, I am not to be believing that you are valking around and cracking vith the jokes." It was off to LDS Hospital and a "Specialist" team of folks that "crack-set" my shoulder blade and tried to straighten out my collar bone. They gave me a 'script for 90 10mg Codeine tabs and sent me home in a sling.
I'm purposely leaving out various mountaineering injuries and shattered heels from playing grab-ass in fruit orchards, etc., for the the sake of brevity. There are probably other injuries that I've simply forgotten about. Trust me: "They all catch up with you, later in life."
My Mom is right. May I never: "Hit That Main Stitch."
-Doc (Of Many Docs)
An apropos song here:
Another venue: (w/Peter Frampton?)
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