For all of you that didn't know, i have broken my femur. And again, for all of you that don't know, the femur is the thighbone, hard as concrete, and what's supposed to be the hardest bone to break in the human body. and yes, i found a way to break it. my luck. sweatdrop
it all started after school on monday, october 9th, 2005, the week of my birthday in my sophomore year. We just started practice, and i was happy because we didnt have to do ABCs (the agility and fitness drills we normally do at the beginning of practice to keep us in better shape than other schools. and yes, they work. youre complaining that you cant lose weight? go on the ABCs diet, or the sweat your a** off diet. both names work. im telling you, man...) anyway, we didnt have to do ABCs, so we went to individual defense, where the D-line goes by themselves, the linebackers go with themselves, and the secondary goes with themselves. but first, before the linebackers and D-line split, we do a defensive drill called nutcrackers (yes, this gets vicious).
Nutcrackers is a drill when we have one lineman or linebacker, one offensive lineman, and a ballrunner. we have two dummies sitting parallel to each other about seven to eight feet apart. the object for the offensive lineman is to block the defensive player so that the ballrunner can get past, running between the dummies. however, the whole object of the drill is for the defensive player to get separation from the blocker and to tackle the ballrunner for a loss, or little if not any gain.
for some reason, we barely had any linebackers at all that day during nutcrackers, and we had some linemen running the ball, something that doesnt normally happen. anyway, i was running the ball about every other time, and i just went. and no one vaulenteered. so, naturally, to avoid doing up-downs, i jumped in for the second time in a row. i hat two big guys in front of me, one blocking for me, and the other out to smear me into the grass. the whistle blew. i ran. i tried to go around to the left.
(it was about here that things start getting hard to remember. i have three different possibilities of what happened, and the last one i list will be the one i think most likely.)
1.) I planted my leg, and they both fell on top of it, snapping the femur on the spot---not likely... if this would have happened, it is highly more likely that i would have torn ligaments or cartilage in my knee than breaking my femur. if i did break my femur in this way, the lump that appeared in the top of my leg (description of that later) would not have been there... so i pretty much scratched that theory, even though my parents are retarded and believe that up to this day.
2.) I was laid flat, and my leg was propped up against the dummy, and the two fatasses rolled over on it---slightly more likely, even though im not sure whether that gives enough force to break it
3.) I planted my foot, and they made my upper body twist, and someone cut the back of my thigh. this, along with the stress of the twisting upper body, snaps the femur something ugly xp ---most likely. this is what i remember of it, but there are still the previous possibilities of what happened.
so, im writhing there on the ground. my coach, sensing something was obviously wrong seeing me wide-eyed and staring at my leg with my arms rigid in that "OMG" kind of way ((breathe... gasp...)), he asks me if im okay. i say no. he asks me if i can get up. i say no. and, things just went further downhill--down a gorge, for that matter--from there. next thing you know, i was laying on my back, the coaches trying to calm me down, and moving all of the defense (my freinds) away to the next exercise. and here comes doc... the dumbass athletic trainer that i have the displeasure serving under currently as a student trainer, in his john deere gator. of course, im laying prone with my knee in the air, the coaches surrounding me and my arms flopped to the side straight out. i have to move my arm to avoid being run over by doc's brilliant maneuvering of the 6-wheeled ATV.
and the dumbass wants me to relax.
he wants me to try to straighten my leg, and looking back, i say, "oh my god..." and shake my head. i tell him i cant. he tells me to relax. THE MUSCLES ARE IN F*CKING SHOCK, DOC! i have no control! and thats probably the bone youre feeling, not a tensed muscle! damn it!!! so, he straightens it manually, to my expense. then when he asks me where the pain is... funny, really... i point to the whole knee area, because, when you break a bone like that, you feel it everywhere. so, he thinks its a dislocated knee. he bends my leg again, with a steady grind, and again to my expense, and attempts to relocate my knee. i can hear it, but he obviously cant (he has hearing aids). KKKKRRKKKKKCKCKCK. waves of pain... and then more pain... topped off with pain... and a little pain to the side there. so, when he finally figures out that it wasnt "dislocated", he goes to the "never failing" plan B. he thinks i tore my ACL. so, he performs the ACL test. he puts his knee on top of my foot, with my knee in the air, bent at approximately 90 degrees. then, he puts both hands behind my calf, locks his fingers, and pulls out. i dont hear it that time, but i feel both the pain and the awful grating feeling. and do you want to know what he says?
"i felt something grind..."
eek stressed you are a f*cking genius.
so, he brings out an inflatable splint to put my leg in. he, with the help of the coaches, put my leg in it. this is possibly the smartest thing he did that day. they lift me up to the bed of the gator. and yes, they had to hold my legs. they drive me into the weight room where the full affect of shock starts kicking in. i feel cold. i feel sick. i am sweating like a f*cking horse. cottonmouth from hell. a couple of the defensive coaches come into the weight room with a fresh towel and a bottle of cold water. i am thankful for that.
doc gets me aspirin. i want to introduce him to "Mr. Backhand."
So, they call my mom and tell her what happened. Meanwhile, I'm trying to carry on a conversation with one of the defensive coaches--big guy, looks like he could have been one of the larger college linebackers (before he got that classic "dad belly" wink --and he thinks that, possibly, i cracked my kneecap. this may sound really far off, but it's actually probably the closest thing they guessed to what really happened.
My mom shows up in her 2001 Ford Expedition. The coaching staff--plus Doc--drive me out to my mom's car. They practically heap me in the rear behind the back seat.
No ambulance. No morphine. Just stacked me on myself in the back of my mom's car.
So, we leave, and I'm grinding my teeth after every bump and during every turn. After what seems like hours, my mom finally arrives at a "Minor Emergency Center."
This is the most retarded thing ever, right? Nope. It gets worse. We go up the parking lot--yes, up, because the parking lot is on a 45 degree slope--and park in the rear of the "Minor Emergency Center." The people who work there come out with a wheelchair after about ten minutes of my mom attempting to get the fact that I hurt my leg into their thick skulls. A wheelchair. I can't even sit up, and they expect me to get into a wheelchair. i tell them, "I need a stretcher." They say, "Well, all we have is a wheelchair." I tell them, "Well, I need a stretcher." "Well, all we have is a wheelchair, so you can use this, or you can go somewhere else."
Keep in mind that I have been able to keep my language clean through all of this.
So, we move out and go to the local hospital... we park in back where the ambulances usually park, because, well, if they got mad, i was just going to rip my leg off the rest of the way and beat them to the ground with it. You'll never guess what happened.
Go ahead, guess.
They come out with a f*cking wheelchair! OMFG. we go through the same god damn discussion with them as the retards at the "minor emergency". Finally, they bring out a gourney, and load me onto it, sliding me across a backboard to keep me from falling out of the car. meanwhile, they ignore my leg and leave me to drag it onto the gourney myself. they wheel me into a room and i wait there for what seems an eternity. my dad just happened to be there, so he was sitting in the room with me. i remember telling him, "Figures. I can't go a year without hurting myself in football, and this year I broke a leg." he feebly attempted to give me a little bit of hope, but looking back, it was probably more denial than anything. "We don't know that yet." after this short discussion with my dad, they come in with a pair of scissors and proceed to cut my pants off ((some of you readers may think i was embarrased. but, being on a fotball team and having to shower with a bunch of guys after practice everyday, you're not shy anymore. actually, i was thankful, because the pads on my pants were constricting my leg. then, they cut off my under armour undershorts, and the doctor looks at my leg. wanna know what he says?
"Oh... That doesn't look good."
f*cking awesome. i had a lump in the front of my thigh. im no doctor, but i think i know that the lump isnt supposed to be there.
they finally came into the room to pump me full of morphine, but i was in so much pain with my leg, i didnt know they even poked me. i start to gradually mellow out, becoming less and less tense, but i could still feel the numbed pain, even through the painkillers. they wheeled me into the radiology section of the complex and took me in for x-rays. i can remember this, even though this is extremely fuzzy because i was then stoned off my a**. they move my leg into certain positions to get a better shot with the x-rays, including straight up in the air, out to the side, and twisting it to get the side view. even with the morphine, this hurt like a b***h. they finally wheel me back out and into the room again with my dad. a little while later, they have the x-rays, and the doctor gives us the news.
"He broke his femur."
my luck. stare
my parents go look at the x-rays as i lay there, off in my distant little world. not quite my happy place, because i was still feeling pain. i was just stoned. anyway, they come back, and they tell me it looks bad. great. i break my leg, and i cant even see the mother f*cking x-ray. thats the only good thing about breaking a bone besides the battle scar and the recognition you get, if you want to call it that. so, it ends up they put me in the back of an ambulance and transport me to a place where they have the equipment and the doctors to do the surgery. sooner more than later, i arrive at Driscoll Children's Hospital ((yes... i was 15 (my 16th birthday was that coming sunday), so, yeah, i could still be treated by a pediatrician)). they wheel me into a room, stoned as ever, and put me in traction. they were keeping me on morphine, but my leg would still spazz out every now and then and jerk violently. it doesnt matter if youre on morphine or not when that happens. it still hurts like a sunnuvabitch.
well, they couldnt give me surgery that day, so they moved me to the next day. i fared pretty well and i was pretty bored, but i managed to get some sleep that night, even though it was periodically interrupted by the jerking of my leg.
so, the next day, they wheeled me into surgery. nervous? nah. that was my 4th surgery in my >16 year lifetime, so it was almost like standard procedure. im to the point where i know that i can always look forward to laughing gas. man, its too bad that stuff is illegal except for medical purposes. that stuff is awesome.
next thing i know, i wake up, and i get all the good news that i made it through surgery fine, and that i have a plate and nine screws in my leg. yeah, whatever. i want to go home. but no, they hold me. ah, well. we rented a movie from the hospital (Major Payne. f*cking badass.)
my release date was supposed to be wednesday, but, for some reason, i couldnt get upright (with crutches, of course) without passing out. ********. i want to go home.
friday, i finally got to leave that dump and go home. on a wheelchair. so, i was on a wheelchair for about a month, and then crutches for a couple of weeks more until i got enough muscle mass in my leg to walk again. i got some souvinirs from the whole incident, and im actually proud to strut around with the bag that holds the hardware and flashing the 3/4 foot scar on the side of my leg. and, thats pretty much it, unless you want me to go over rehab and everything. i doubt it.
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