Even monkeys learn from mistakes...
Softball season starts tonight. Or as MrsCommish calls it, “Countdown until Todd’s next catastrophic injury because he still thinks he’s in his 20’s even though he’s in his mid-40’s” Let’s recap the past three softball seasons, shall we?
2006 – After tweaking my left shoulder careening down a waterslide at 40 mph during our Arizona vacation, I caused more permanent damage by diving for a ground ball going up the middle. Oh sure, it was a spectacular play to dive to my left, snare a ground ball, and roll over and blindly flip the ball to the 2nd baseman for a forceout. But it almost certainly led to a shoulder impingement and two months of physical therapy (which didn’t stop me from playing out the year).
2007 – I was on third base with one out, and the batter chopped a ground ball to the shortstop, who looked me back to the base, and threw to first. As soon as he turned to throw, I broke for home. As I’m crossing the plate, someone whacked me on the back of the leg with a hockey stick… or so I thought. Everyone in the stands, including Laurie, thought I was diving across the plate, and cheered my hustle. Meanwhile, I was laying in a crumpled mass against the backstop, grabbing my hamstring, and yelling in pain. Pulled hamstring, out two weeks, attempted a premature comeback, out four more weeks.
2008 – I was in left-center this time (slow-pitch softball has interesting defensive configurations). Pop-up behind the second base bag, I came barreling down, and slid along the grass with my left leg extended and my right leg tucked under my left knee. As I made the catch, I realized that my left leg had stuck in the grass about two feet behind me, and my left knee had made a horrible popping sound. I flipped the ball to the infield, and, as Trevor put it, “rolled from left field to right field”, screaming in pain. Honestly, I KNEW I had blown my knee. The popping sound was a dead giveaway. But, being a good team player and complete asshat, I finished the game anyway.
No major swelling, but after some Internet research, I self-diagnosed a torn meniscus, and after an MRI confirmed my incredibly accurate diagnosis, I went to see an orthopedic surgeon, who recommended surgery to repair the meniscus (of course he recommended surgery… he’s a SURGEON). So, I scheduled the surgery a week later, and a couple of days prior to the operation date, I got a call from the doctor’s office. “Dr. X won’t be able to do your surgery, would you like to reschedule with another doctor?” “Uh, what happened with Dr. X?” “Oh, he had a heart attack. He won’t come back to work for a couple of months.” Lovely.
The next doctor was apparently not as cut-happy, and told me that surgery might not be necessary, and signed me up for physical therapy; like, THREE MONTHS of physical therapy. But the knee responded, and I managed to avoid the knife.
And I’m going back out there tonight. Stay tuned for further medical bulletins.