My Era

When you've done something for most of your life, it's a strange feeling when it suddenly comes to an end.  The second I tore my Achilles, my tumbling days were officially over.  

I first started gymnastics when I was nine years old.  Typical story...lots of energy, needed an outlet, local gym, etc., etc.  Growing up, I competed all-around...floor, rings, vault, parallel bars, high bar and pommel horse.  My pommel horse and high bar was a joke, parallel bars and rings were okay, and vault was good.  My strength, however, was definitely the floor, learning backflips and tumbling.  I loved it.  Sure there was a lot of technique, body mechanics and muscle memory involved, but mostly....Dan run and jump! It just made sense to me.  Plus, I always thought it was the coolest part of gymnastics...doing flips.  Growing up as a gymnast, it's easy to take some crap, but the minute you bust out a backflip....that's cool.  As I got older and stopped competing, my skills on the other events fell away, but my tumbling...that stayed with me.  

Tumbling is a skill that not a lot of people can do, and I've taken advantage of that.  I've done backflips to get a job at a bar while I was in college.  I made money flipping on a trampoline for an advertisement for a paper company.  When I was teaching, I'd bust out a flip to make sure my students were paying attention.  When I started working for the Celtics this year, my "thing" was that I was the one who did the flips.  Tumbling was just as fun now as it was when I was first learning how to do it.  It let me show off a little, it set me apart...it made me special. 

I used to jokingly say that I'd continue tumbling as long as my body would let me.  Unfortunately, my body has sent me a message, loud and clear that it's time to stop, and I need to listen.  My flipping days are officially over.  Sure, after I tore a bunch of ligaments in my knee, I said I was officially done tumbling then.  But...after reconstructive surgery, I started healing and eventually got back to it and tumbled better than before.  But...that was also eleven years ago.  I'm pushing thirty now.  While I would love to be able to throw a flip and tumble like I used to, it's now too much of a risk.  The impact this injury, surgery and recovery is having on my life is too great.  It's time for me to be done.  

Knowing that I'll never do a back flip again is weird.  It has been part of my life for so long.  I don't remember learning how to do it, or the times I crashed attempting new skills...I just remember being able to tumble.  Dan run and jump.  

Now, part of me is pissed off that an injury is forcing my "retirement".  I would much rather end on my own terms, stop when I feel it's time.  In reality though, I don't think that day would have ever come.  I don't see myself ever just choosing to give up on something that has been a part of me for so long.  In a way I guess I needed the injury to end it for me...something to pull the plug.   

I guess now it's time to move on.  Time to find something else to set me apart, something else that makes me special.  The beginning of a new era.  

In health and with respect...

D

   

Update...

Nothing profound right now...I have some good stuff, so stay tuned, but for now...just an update on progress.  

I'm one week post op and went in for the appointment with my surgeon.  He removed the splint and checked the incision site.  All looks good.  Scar is about 4" long and pretty nasty, but healing.  I'm in a walking boot with crutches for a few more weeks, then I can start physical therapy.  If all goes well, I should be walking with no support in about ten weeks.  It's a pretty aggressive timeline, but I'm looking forward to the challenge.    

I'm amazed at how much my calf muscle has atrophied in just under two weeks of being off of it.  It's incredibly skinny and I'm kind of freaking out about it.  Considering I have at least two more weeks of no weight bearing doesn't bode well.  Guess I'll just have to accept that I'm going to look ridiculous in shorts for a while.  

Being out of the splint was like being let out of prison.  I still can't walk but at least I can take the boot off when I need to.  Unfortunately, it also gives me a false sense of mobility which I simply do not have.  Regardless, with the freedom of being out of the splint, I decided to shower up, which was a nice change...gross, I know but what can you do.  I'm clean now at least.  Anyway, I got all cleaned up and hopped (literally) in a cab to visit my co-workers at the restaurant and then meet some friends for dinner.  Unfortunately I'm thinking all the activity from yesterday was a little much as I woke up at 5:40 a.m. in some incredibly intense pain.  

I thought the pain "part" of the injury was over, but...not so much.  I guess I overdid it on my first day out of the splint.  One of the toughest things for me to do is slow down.  I just need to learn to do that if I want to get better.  Tough thing to learn, but eventually I'll get it.  

On a side note, I have some incredible friends.  Between making me dinners, chauffeuring me around to appointments, hanging out and just "being there" for me, I am so grateful to have such a solid and caring group of individuals in my life.  There really is no way to properly convey what they mean to me, so I'll keep it simple and just say, thank you.  

In health and with respect...

D

Back In The Nest

One of the annoying and frustrating things about injury and recovery is that you can no longer fully take care of yourself.  Once simple tasks that required little to no effort now had now becoming a chore.  Sure, you want to give it a shot and do things for yourself, but you know it would be a bad idea.  It's like that bully in elementary school, standing over you, daring you to hit them first.  You knew you probably could get a good punch in, maybe even do a little damage, but ultimately, that bully would kick your ass, just because they could.  

For me, I'm on crutches in the middle of one of the worst winters in recent memory.  I can't put any weight on my newly attached tendon and I can't even get it wet.  So, that means pretty much everything has become difficult...cooking, laundry, cleaning up, showering, just about everything I need to do to be a clean and sufficient human being has been compromised.  To add insult to injury, my car is standard shift, and since I tore my left Achilles, that means no driving.  Sure, all of this stuff will get easier over time, but the first few days after surgery I definitely needed some help and someone to look after me.  Enter...MOM.  So post surgery I stayed with my mother and stepfather in Halifax.  I was back in the nest.  

Now...you need to understand my mom.  She's always gone over and above when it comes to her three kids.  If I ever needed someone, she would be there.  Even if I didn't want someone there...there she was.  She's always been my strongest supporter, encouraging me when I'm doing well, and kicking me in the ass, the first to tell me when I screw up.  She is someone you want in your corner to stand up for you, but God help you if you're on her shit list.  She's caring, loud, emotional and opinionated.  She's a Jewish mom.  If you don't have a good idea of what I'm talking about, let me explain...

When I first got hurt, I thanked her for taking such good care of me.  Her response..."Please, it's my job.  You don't have a wife or a girlfriend.  Who else is going to take such good care of you?"

When we were discussing the eventual return to my apartment, she told me she was going to make some food for me to take home.  I told her that was appreciated but not necessary.  She works full time and I didn't want her to go through the trouble.  Plus, I told her my friend who is a chef was dropping some food off mid week.  She said, "Well, we'll see."  Later that night,  I saw two LARGE pots on the stove.  One with beef stew, one with chicken soup.  I gave her a look, but all I got was, "Well you HAVE to eat!"

When I was lying on the couch reading, she came over and asked, "Don't you want more light?"  I was fine, and didn't need anymore than I had.  I responded with what I thought was a pretty clear, "No, I'm good."  As she walked out of the room, she turned on two more lights.  I just sat there, blinded by the excess lighting that was now shining down on me.  

Finally, I wanted to go to the mall to pick up some new books to keep me busy.  As we pulled up, I was about to get out of the car with my crutches, but she said, "Wait, I brought nanny's wheelchair."  Nanny was my grandmother who passed away four and a half years ago.  I thought, okay, she's right.  It will be kind of tough walking on crutches through the mall, plus the floor will be wet from people dragging in snow on their boots. Wheeling myself around in the wheelchair was probably a much better option.  As she pulled it from the trunk and assembled it on the sidewalk, I couldn't put my finger on it, but something was missing.  I sat myself in the chair and went to wheel myself into the mall.  That's when I realized what was missing....giant wheels.  It wasn't exactly a wheelchair, but more like a chair on wheels...one that needed to be pushed from behind.  So there I was, being wheeled around the entire mall by mom.  Awesome.

As I write this and look back on the past few days, I can't help but laugh at how things really haven't changed between me and my mom.  She took care of me at almost 30 the same she did when I was 15.  I guess all parents want what is best for their kids.  They protect us and take care of us the best they know how.  Sometimes that means ignoring what we say and doing what they think needs to be done and sometimes it means pushing us to get to where we need to be, both literally and figuratively.  They're people who will be here for us when things don't go exactly as we plan.  They'll do what they think is best to help us along the way and then step aside to let us sink or swim.  Either way, they're still there.  Ready to step in to take care of us and right our way.  Maybe that's what she was trying to say when she once again brought up the fact that I'm single.  Maybe.  

Well here I am, waiting for my mom to return from work to drive me back to my apartment.  After three nights and four days in her care, it's time to be on my own.  It's time for me to see what I can do for myself.  Sure I'll be limited and things will take longer than normal.  Sure I'll probably fall or stumble and might even hurt myself a little bit.  But that's part of the process.  It's like growing up all over again.  But now I really know, that when it all comes down to it, my mom will always be there, to help along the way, and for that I'm incredibly lucky.    

In health and with respect...

D

The Injury...

Since this blog centers around my Achilles Tendon, I might as well give a little background as to how I ruptured mine and the events leading up to this point.  

I am a member of the Green Team.  The Green Team is the game night entertainment and promotion team for the Boston Celtics basketball team.  For all intents and purposes...think cheerleader.  I would walk throughout the Garden, interact with fans and help run any promotions and on-court events.  Plus, I would stunt and tumble during certain time outs.  

Last Monday, January 12th, I was working a really exciting game.  We were all tied up with 2 minutes left in regulation when one of the teams called a time out.  The energy in the place was great, fans were screaming and everyone was on their feet.  I tumbled onto the court as I always did, only tis time...there was a big difference.  I ran out and did a round off, back handspring, layout.  When I snapped down from the handspring I felt like my left foot slipped out in front of me and felt something "pop".  It was as though someone had hit me in the leg with a piece of wood.  I knew right away something happened.  I landed the layout on my right foot and hopped off the court.  

Although the pain was intense, I didn't fall and kept smiling.  I figured I had left my Achilles in pieces on the court...no need to leave my dignity there as well.  When I got off to the side, I told one of my co-workers what happened and the E.M.T.s came over.  After some initial testing, they took me to the E.R. at Mass General.  

The doctors at the hospital were great.  They diagnosed me with at least a partial tear, gave me some percocet (VERY nice), wrapped me up and sent me on my way.  The next day I went in to meet with my own surgeon...unfortunately, after over 20 years in gymnastics, I do have my very own orthopedic surgeon.  He confirmed the diagnosis as a total tear of my left Achilles and scheduled me for surgery the following Friday, January 16th.  

The surgery was a success.  Apparently the tear was very clean so it was easy to reattach.  As it was out patient, I was able to go home a few hours later.  Since I'm single, my mom thought it was her primary concern and duty to take care of me.  I've been recuperating from surgery at my mom and step-father's house all weekend, which brings me to now.  I've gone through a lot already in the short time since surgery...it's interesting to be almost 30 and be back in the care of your parents again.  But that is something for a different entry.  

In health and with respect...

D

Achilles Escape...the beginning.

Welcome to my blog.  

As you might be able to figure out from the title, I'll be using this blog as an escape.  A way to step away from the boredom, frustration and pain that comes with an injury.  As a generally positive person, I'll also come here to write about my strides and successes along the path to recovery.  In my case...again, as the title would suggest, the injury in question is a complete rupture of my left Achilles tendon.  While writing, I'm going to keep three audiences in mind.   

I assume this blog will be most helpful to those who are going through and recovering from injuries of their own.  When you're going through a difficult situation, you know there are others in the same or similar predicament, but it's still nice to hear their stories.  You can imagine someone is going through something similar, but actually seeing it in front of you is a little more comforting.  It makes things a little less scary and a little less lonely.  

I also hope this blog reaches more people than just those who are coping with injuries.  I hope to reach the general public.  But how?  How can I make something so specific interesting to everyone?  Someone gave me the advice to try to give a unique insight into what I'm going through.  Well coming back from an injury is really just focusing on an end result; making a plan and working towards that goal.  I imagine everyone has been there before and hopefully you can use my journey and relate it to your own experience. 

Lastly, this blog will be for me.  As I said in the beginning, this will be my escape.  A time to reflect and learn.  I truly believe nothing in life is a waste of time provided you learn something.  I might not be better off for having torn my Achilles, but I absolutely can be better of for having gone through the experience.  My favorite book, The Alchemist, teaches the end result is secondary to what you learn along the way.  Simply making the journey is not enough.  Learning from the journey is essential to growth.  

So here is my blog.  My Achilles Escape.  Please feel free to read, discuss and comment.  If you have tips to on how to heal, physically or mentally, please share.  If you disagree or agree, let me know.  

I look forward to sharing the ups and downs, setbacks and triumphs, insights and learning that will line the journey I've begun.  

In health and with respect...

D