A few weeks ago I was in a pretty good place mentally. Truth be told, I was even contemplating
composing a “final” contribution to this blog.
See, I had figured that The Younker Rules had simply run its
course. Perhaps I was too arrogant in
thinking that my writing would influence any real change in my life. Perhaps I was just running out of things to
say. My “rules” were and are pretty
stupid I suppose. I’ve followed them for
most of my life and haven’t exactly gotten the results I hoped for. This failure extends to many areas in my
life, most of which I’ve written about in some form or other.
I’ve learned that no one gives a damn that you bestow strikes
upon them for failing to show up to a scheduled event. They are not any more inclined to hang out
with you in the future. I’ve surmised
that girls won’t be impressed by some crazy, outside-the-box approach to
dating. The game has been played in
largely the same way since the modern world came to be. You also can’t have a defined list of
criteria and choose to explicitly follow it.
Eric Carmen’s All By Myself
just popped up on my iPod. That's not relevant, but it's still
fitting I thought. I’ve discovered that
the universe is not trying to give me a sign with every little thing that
happens. It has better things to do than
convince me why I shouldn’t go to that party.
The definition of insanity is repeating the same experiment
over and over expecting different results.
They say rules are meant to be broken.
If there were ever a set of rules to which this mantra applies, then
surely it is mine. It feels like I’m
committing suicide in the slowest, most painless way possible. Think about a million tiny paper cuts all
over your body. Shockingly, the potential abandonment of all the principles
I’ve held near and dear to my heart for so long didn’t really bother me. I was probably just on the positive swing of
my attitude pendulum, but I was ready to unleash a new mindset. This was going to be the ‘Summer of Dave’. I was going to try and make myself more available
for social functions. I was going to take on new challenges. Heck, I might have
even gone after a hypothetical girl who my former rules would have precluded me
from engaging.
Things started swimmingly enough. I was going to be playing on a co-ed kickball
team. Words cannot express how pumped I
was for this activity. In addition to
kickball being a sport I reckon I’d be pretty good at, co-ed events are
generally pretty fun on their own merit.
The chance to hang out with some new women? Why not? I should give credit where credit is due. My friend Abi did a lot of the legwork to
fill out the roster, especially the female portion of it, which I would never
have been able to acquire on my own.
As fate would have it, I get news that the league was
cancelled due to a lack of teams. Now, just in
case there were going to be enough teams, fate had a backup plan to derail my summer fun. Around the same time, I
screwed up my knee playing basketball. Of
course it was during the seventh and final game of the night. The play was eerily similar to the Derrick
Rose torn ACL injury in the way it unfolded.
As I crumple to floor, I assume the worst.
The worst case scenario usually plays through my head at
times like these. Maybe it’s because
I’ve never had a serious injury like that and I feel gypped. I waited a few days and the pain didn’t
really subside so I figured it was time to schedule a doctor’s
appointment. I should preface this by
stating that I rarely ever go to the hospital.
I have had the good fortune of being a fairly healthy person (I have not
used a sick day at work since 2008!), and I usually just try to tough things
out.
When I called to set up an appointment with an orthopedic
doctor (it was my knee after all), they said they didn’t have any openings for
a month. A month?! They referred me to family practice. To illustrate how long it has been since I’ve
gone to have anything checked out, I should mention that my primary doctor no
longer works there and the entire hospital has moved locations. They also gave me the same run-around about
it being a month before any doctor could see me. What the hell is going on this world? Is the entire health of the south suburban
population deteriorating that much? Are
people scheduling appointments for every teensy little pain that afflicts
them? Is the hospital that badly
understaffed?
By this point, I was getting a little perturbed on the
phone. Fortunately, I kept my cool. I may be seething internally but it rarely
bubbles to the surface in the form of any external rage. Did I ever say before that I hate talking on
phones? I feel like I have but it bears
repeating. I need to get over this fear
because apparently my new role at work is going to require me calling some
insurance agencies. Can’t they just
respond to my emails? Calling hospitals
is no different. I’d like to schedule an appointment to have my knee checked out. … … What’s
wrong? … … I, uh, don’t know exactly,
but it hurts to bend it and walk.
[Insert some generic questions about how it happened and my
responses.] Then they start asking about
my insurance and I get a little nervous.
I have health insurance of course, but again, I use it so infrequently
that I’m not sure I’ll have answers to all of the questions they pose. It’s like expecting me to remember my debit
card pin # when I use it twice a year.
My parents have suggested that I should over exaggerate my illness
or pain when I am looking to get an appointment. It’s a back door way through the system. Even the fine, upstanding Gene Younker
advocates this approach in certain instances.
Perhaps he just realizes better than I how to play the game. In this particular case, I would hardly call
my situation an “emergency”. Sure, I was
limping around in a bunch of pain, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t
life-threatening. Yes, I wanted to get it looked at soon, but it
didn’t need immediate attention. It just
never seems right to me to advertise aches and pains as more than they are when
someone else out there may really need the attention pronto. There has be to some set of rules in place,
doesn’t there?
Perhaps it’s that false sense of entitlement that our
generation is often accused of, but I feel like the medical industry should be
more accommodating of me. I ask so very
little of it; when I do, I want some attention, dammit! It’s kind of like when I schedule parties or an
outing. (That reminds me. I keep putting off the after-work event I’m supposed
to schedule.) I do it so infrequently
that I kind of just expect you to show up.
Maybe that’s why the whole “three strikes” thing came about. I felt the need to punish these insolent
people in some way. Alright, I better
stop and re-focus. This is starting to
become about the old rules again, and they’re supposed to be a thing of the
past, right?
Anyway, I finally worked it out so that a physician’s
assistant could see me. Fine. Whatever.
I just needed something to ease my injury paranoia. It was with a Dr. Kirby. Ugh. I
just cannot escape that name. (Cheers if you know what I’m talking about.) The doctor said that rest was the best
medicine for my injury. He said it could
very easily take 8 weeks (or more) to fully heal. That’s not exactly the answer I was looking
for but I was certain that it was just doctor-speak to be sure I used extra
caution. I took the anti-inflammatory
pills I was prescribed and wore the knee brace I was instructed to
purchase. He did order an X-ray albeit
on the wrong knee, but I knew that wasn’t going to show anything. I wanted an MRI; I’ve never had one. Back to feeling like I’m missing out I guess.
Things started to get a little better and I was entertaining
the idea of being back in action in a couple weeks. I was able to mostly walk without any pain
and I even managed to stagger around the yard and cut the grass with a push
mower. That was a week ago.
I
lined up a sub to play for me in softball this past Monday. Given the progress my knee was making, I felt
like my return was near. I decided to
bring my equipment along (just in case) and even pondered the idea of being a
DH (I’d just have someone pinch run if I got on base). I was itching to get back out there in some
form. I wrestled with the idea of
hitting during the drive to the field.
As the de facto manager, I ultimately left my name off the card when
filling out the lineup. There was no
sense in taking any unnecessary risks. I
was even a little proud of myself; I had resisted every urge in my body to make
the responsible choice.
We play doubleheaders and in between games, two of our
players needed to leave for an emergency (a legitimate one). There was no way to find 2 replacement
players in such short notice.
Fortunately, my friend Brian was sitting in the stands (in regular
clothes) watching the game. We pressed
him into duty but that still left us 1 short.
It didn’t take a genius, at least to me, to figure out where the 10th
was going to come from. I was dressed
for the part and had my equipment. Yes,
we could have played with 9, but I didn’t want to put the team at that
disadvantage. My earlier logic was
tossed out the window at this point. As
I’m prone to do, I saw the departure of our other 2 players as the signal that
I should get out there.
I decided to play pitcher instead of catcher because I figured
it would be more painful to bend down and catch the balls. It was incredibly frustrating being on that
mound at less than 100%. There was a
popup that dropped because I could not spring off the mound quick enough. There was a ground ball hit back through the
middle that I could not bend down to grab.
Both were plays I would have made under normal circumstances. I’m not sure if the opponents just assumed
those were plays I never make, but it bugged me to even think they would
consider that possibility.
When it finally came time to hit for the first time, a
teammate pulled me aside and asked if I really wanted to do this. No sense in trying to be a hero, he said. I heard him but I wasn’t really
listening. I’d be fine. Truthfully, I was really hoping to get walked
to make things really easy.
Unfortunately, the opposing pitcher wasn’t going to be so gracious. He pumped in the first strike (you start with
a 1-1 count, for those unfamiliar with the game) followed by a ball. The next pitch, however, was too close to
take. I swung – an all arms swing because
I can’t put any torque on my knee – and lined it to right center. At that moment, natural instinct took
over. I quickly turned in the box and
attempted to take off running…*POP*…instant pain shot through my leg. I uttered some unintelligible groan and
delayed my recognition of the injury until I was able to hobble down to first.
I knew I was done for that game. As soon as I heard the ump call time, I
didn’t even try to signal for a pinch runner.
I just told their 1st baseman, “I’m done”, and staggered off
the field to the closest dugout, which belonged to the opponents. I eventually made my way to a vacant table
behind the field. At this point,
everything became a little too much for me.
I realized that I had probably made things much worse. At the very least I had delayed my full
return. It also served as a reminder
that I wasn’t all that close to returning anyway. I slammed my batting gloves down and yelled
an F-bomb at the top of my lungs. I
didn’t care who was going to hear it.
Naturally, this drew some raised eyebrows and concerned looks from
everyone within earshot. The courteous park
director offered to get me some ice but everyone else stayed away from this
crazy, swearing guy who had emerged.
Perhaps what finally pushed me to schedule that doctor visit
was sitting on the bench watching my buddies play softball. I don’t get overly amped up to play softball
but the harsh truth of not being able to play makes me miss it even more. Maybe I’ll stay away from the fields for most
games to make it a little easier on myself, but does that make me a poor
teammate?
So this injury is why I’m feeling so negative. Forgive me in advance if I act a little
ornery towards you. This was supposed to
be 'Summer of Dave'! In addition to all of
the missed softball games, I’ve had to turn down multiple requests to play golf
or tennis. I haven’t been able to bring
myself to schedule another doctor appointment because I don’t want to admit
what happened. I’m not sure it’s needed
either. The knee still hurts but not
really much worse than it did before the softball incident. It’s just going to be a slow recovery I
think. I’ve already written off the
entire softball season. On the bright
side, I can finish the season with a 1.000 batting average. It looks like I’m going to have a lot of time
to continue contributing to this blog.
Is my injury a sign from the universe?
OK, someone seriously needs to tell me to stop looking for them.
[UPDATE: As everyone
knows by now, the Blackhawks won Game 1 by a 4-3 score in a 3 OT thriller. We were trying to listen to the game by
streaming WGN radio through a mobile phone.
Unfortunately, there was the little matter of getting the generator to
run so the basement wouldn’t flood and the food wouldn’t spoil. The folks are on vacation in Italy so the
duty fell to me and my brother.
Responsibility sucks, by the way.
So we didn’t get to hear, let alone watch, much of the game. Approximately 15 minutes after the game
ended, power was restored. Of course. Why wouldn’t
it be? Game 2 tonight. GO HAWKS!]
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