Chapter 2 - Hospital
I remember gliding out of the back door to the gym by the coach’s office, the gimmick of being in a c-collar strapped to a backboard began to wear off and the reality of my situation started to set in. It was like the door to the building had one of those air curtains at the car wash, but instead of stripping all the water off it stripped away the novelty of the situation and left me exposed. I didn’t think anything was seriously wrong, but I did understand that the trip to the hospital by ambulance, x-rays, and everything else would be tedious and expensive. I figured I’d be out of the collar and back at baseball the next day, as did pretty much everyone else, I think. The paramedics carried me out of the door, set me down on the gurney, and rolled me out to the ambulance. I remember the experience being surprisingly smooth, it felt like I was just floating. Once inside, I remember staring out that tiny little window trying to guess where we were based on the little things that would flash by. A particular statue, the street sign, even just a familiar set of trees. My dad worked in the medical labs attached to the hospital and I had worked there for the two previous summers, so I had made this drive countless times and could generally recognize where we were. I guess that was the only thing I felt like I had a sense of control over because the urge, no, the absolute necessity to figure out where we were at all times was all-consuming. To the point where I have no recollection of what the paramedic looked like, if we made small talk, or anything about our interaction… I know there were two of them, but that is more likely a logical deduction rather than an actual memory.
I remember my mom meeting us at the hospital after I’d been checked in, and taken for x-rays, and we were just waiting for the doctor to come back with the results. I had to explain what happened, but I’m sure none of it was really a surprise to her. I used to joke that my parents had a three-ring binder for my medical history, while they just had an empty manila folder for my sister (who by all accounts, was basically the perfect child, never got hurt, never got in trouble, smart, worked hard, never drank, never tried drugs, etc. basically my polar opposite). However, thinking back, this really wasn’t a joke, my parents really did have a 3-inch-thick three ring binder packed with hospital bills, notes and bills from doctor visits or visits to the orthopedists, etc. As always, she made me feel okay about the situation. She definitely allowed me to feel the guilt/ stupidity from what I had done but just enough to learn, not enough to damage.
The doctor walked in, accompanied by five or six residents who were following the doctor for rounds. He explained he had to do a few tests to check sensation and function and asked if it would be alright if the students were allowed to watch, which I agreed to without really understanding what was about to happen. After a few checks of my extremities/reflexes, I was then asked to turn on my side pull down my pants, and I soon found myself frantically trying to decide where to look as the doctor’s finger was all the way in my ass hole. I had obviously consented and he definitely explained what was going to happen, but I was certainly not prepared to have a finger in my ass, much less with a full audience of on lookers. Thankfully it was all over quickly but, as usual, I still didn’t know where to look. Not because of what just happened, but just because eye contact with people felt like holding a heavy weight at the end of your outstretched arm; with effort, it was possible, but it definitely began wearing on you quickly and was generally unpleasant.
I think everyone was expecting that I would be totally fine, there were no external signs that there was anything wrong. Which is why it was so surprising to hear the doctor said that I had a tiny chip missing from the C6 vertebrae accompanied by a tiny hairline fracture. Nothing serious, but definitely a little bit surprising and something that would mean I’d have to wear the neck brace for a number of weeks while it healed. As with most things the first five minutes the prospect of wearing a neck brace seemed interesting, maybe this would get people to engage with me? Will I get more attention now? But again, the reality quickly set in as to just how annoying wearing that neck brace would be.
As a side note, as someone with mildly obsessive tendencies, I spent an inordinate amount of time as a child avoiding stepping on cracks to avoid breaking my mother’s back. Well, obviously I misunderstood the fine print somewhere because I sit here, having broken my back… twice… thumbing through life’s manual wondering “where the fuck was this clause!?”
