Get in the Box

Injury sucks.  I keep reminding myself that I could have been hurt much worse.  A little bit more to the left, or bending my leg just a hair more and I might never use my left arm again.  Yes, it could have been so much worse, but it still sucks.

I wish I had an exciting story to go along with this injury. Something like:

I was Pack Ref for the last jam in the bout.  The score was tied and on the last pass through the pack the lead jammer cuts to the inside to score the winning point.  As she passed the inside blocker to win the game, her skate caught the copping sending her flying into me.  We both hit the ground with my elbow bending in a most unnatural way.

Back in reality, it is always the little things that usually lead to the most pain.  I was assisting at AZDD Brats practice last Wednesday, just running a simple balance drill for the girls.  Whistle in mouth and stop watch in hand, when I lifted one of my skates to help demonstrate the proper motion for this exercise, I immediately felt myself falling backwards.  My other skate must not have been positioned correctly, or my balance was just slightly off.

In the split second that I was falling, I wasn't concerned.  I've fallen like this literally a hundred times.  Arms bent to act as shock absorbers, butt tucked in to protect my tailbone, and preparing myself for the insignificant bruising pain.  But that's not what happened next.


My arm jammed behind me, my bones making a sickening crack as the elbow joint compressed together, and then the scream of pain as I rolled onto my side clutching at my arm.  Everyone has their own scream of pain, it is unique to each and every one of us.  I don't ever want to hear mine again even though I know I will.

As the adrenaline started coursing through my veins, the pain momentarily subsided.  My first thoughts were surprisingly rational.  Immobilize my arm, check that I can move my fingers, pull my helmet off to use as a pillow so I don't have to roll over while others pull my pads off.  I was extremely lucky to have Ali Gator's mom, a Nurse, there that night.  She ran though the immediate first aid checks and then splinted my arm for the ride to the ER.

It's at this point in my story that I want to give my most heart felt thanks to Ali Gator's mom, Abby Arsenic and Emma Grenade for their help.  Each one of them acted calmly and professionally to take care of me and the Brats that were watching.

It wasn't until I was getting on my feet again that I turned my attention to my daughter, NC Jammer.  You may think I'm a horrible Dad for not putting her first, but she made sure I didn't have to worry about anything except taking care of myself in those first few minutes.  She led the Brats to take a knee and kept them at the benches and out of the way.  She didn't scream, cry, or panic.  I couldn't be more proud of her, especially when she came over to give me a great big hug after I was on my feet.

The rest of the night in the ER is a bit of a blur between the X-Rays and Percocet.  But there was one thing that I remember very clearly.  While we were sitting in the ER waiting for the final discharge paperwork, I turned to NC Jammer and asked, 'Did I keep my Dad filter in place or did I start spouting four letter expletives when I hit the ground?'

She sheepishly looked at me and said, "Yes, but it's OK.  You still had your whistle in your mouth so it was muffled and I don't think anyone could hear what you were saying."

At that moment I had visions of a real life TV Bleep censor using a whistle sound to mask the foul language coming out of my mouth.  The louder I cursed, the louder the whistle would sound.

That image also brought up a secondary thought.  If holding on to my whistle to call off a jam even when laying on the ground injured doesn't say something about my dedication to being a Ref, I don't know what else will.

The good news was that nothing was broken, fractured or dislocated.  The final diagnosis was an extreme elbow sprain that should fully heal in 6 weeks or so.  The bad news was that I was expecting my new skates to arrive the very next day.  That was the worst pain I felt all night.  All I can do now is look at my new skates until after Christmas.

Now for everyone reading this that thinks I'm getting too old for Roller Derby, or that I need to start acting my age, or worry that this obsession will be the death of me.  I respond to these criticisms with the words of America's greatest author and humorist.

Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do than by the ones you did. So throw off the bowlines, sail away from the safe harbor, catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover. -- Mark Twain

I can't wait to put on my new skates in January and get back inside the Banked Track.