Bounce, bounce, screech, screech, POP, “arggggghhhh”. The sounds rang out in the gymnasium Monday night as I went from having two functioning Achilles’ tendons, to just one.
Friends had told me what it sounded and felt like when that crucial part of your foot and leg snaps, and it all went exactly according to the script they laid out. Even the cool slithering feeling that eventually made its way up my calf as the tendon retracted after 36 years of being stretched like a piano wire.
Two other people I know (my father and father-in-law), suffered the same type of injury but didn’t realize it at the time, and walked (or in my father’s case… hunted) on the injured leg before going to see a doctor. I was not going to make the same mistake.
After wrapping in ice, my buddy drove me to an Ottawa-area hospital to get it checked out. Given the well-documented experiences of others at Canadian hospitals, I wasn’t confident that my ER visit would be a short one. I checked in at 10:15pm and waited in my new mode of transport…. a wheelchair (side note: wheelchairs are remarkably difficult to manoeuvre…)
It felt like a long time but really, I can’t say my ER experience was bad. Everyone in the hospital was respectful, courteous, and professional. Sure, I waited a total of 4 hours from the time I hobbled in to the time I left on crutches, but in a health care system stretched so thin, I knew my basketball injury wouldn’t put me at the front of the line and just tried to make the best of it.
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I’ll admit, this was my first ever ER visit (for myself) in my 36-year life. (My daughter was dehydrated when she was just 3 years old and we spend most of one overnight at the Montreal children’s Hospital). Still, from the triage nurse to the doctor, and male nurse who put the cast on my leg, they all made me feel like my case was important and should be dealt with swiftly.
The diagnosis: a complete rupture of the Achilles’ tendon on my left leg.
The doctor assured me that I’d see the orthopaedic surgeon in a week and he even made the appointment for me. I was convinced this would mean surgery, but I’m told the tendon can repair itself given enough time.In the mean time, I’m off my feet… It’s a frustrating situation, but I can’t have a pity party for myself when you consider how people in the Philippines and Illinois have lost everything. What this has done though is made me realize how lucky I am to have what I do.
Over the next few days, I plan to write about my experiences, not only to give myself something to do, but also so that the clicking of the keyboard helps me forget the sounds that led to my present situation .
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