My wife and I and our 3 children had gone to Tennessee to spend a little time with Julia's family. We returned from the trip on September 14, 2007.
On September 15, I had purchased 5 new trees for the farm. Matthew, Elizabeth, my father-in-law (Lyle) and I planted the trees. Lyle and Carolyn left later that day. I watered the trees that day and did the same the next.
On September 16, I had been outside off and on for most of the day watering the trees. Sometime after 10:00 p.m., I went outside to give the trees a final water. About 10:30 or 10:45 p.m., I turned off the water. My 6 year old Brittany dog, Scout had been out running around the farm. So, I said, "C'mon, Scout. Let's Run!" And I took off running down our concrete sidewalk (which has a slight downward grade.)
I might mention at this point that, while I am not a little guy, I have always been pretty fast when it comes to a sprint. When I was in grade school, I was chunky. So it was always funny when the lean, athletic kids would be sprinting, and I could run past them. My junior high football coaches were so surprised at my ability to turn speed that, in addition to being an offensive tackle, they made me a running back (a full back.) In high school, the football coaches made me a pulling guard and let me pull as my discretion dictated to lead for the running back.
Anyway, I called out to my dog, "C'mon, Scout. Let's Run!" Just as I was getting to top speed running down this sidewalk, Scout turned broadside right under my legs.
Now, a dog is a very solid creature. They are stable, standing on four feet, and have a low center of gravity. Scout is exactly knee high and is a real athlete. So, when he cut into me, he took my legs out. I tried to avoid hurting the dog (which is kind of silly because dogs are tougher than people, but it all happened quickly.) I tried to avoid tangling my feet and twisting my knee. I tried to avoid skidding on my face on the concrete. I remember thinking these things in the quarter of a second it took for the fall to happen. On these scores, I was generally successful.
However, as I fell, I landed on my hands and jarringly hard on my right knee.
I knew that something was wrong. I knew I had scuffed my palms pretty good. Even 2 ½ weeks later, I still have pretty significant scabs. I suspected, but did not know that I had skinned my knee (my suspicions were soon confirmed.) But these weren't the problem. The problem was that I couldn't straighten my right leg and the knee had gone instantly numb. I thought, "OK, Houston, we have a problem. Ouch, Ouch, I'll have to see how this thing feels tomorrow."
I blew both of my knees out in Junior High and High School football. I thought that maybe I had done the same to my right knee again. It felt about right for that.
Slowly, I got to my feet and was then able to straighten my leg. I hobbled (in the most hobbly sense of the word) into the garage. I fed the dog. I hobbled out and fed the cat. (Now sweating under the pressure.) I went up the four steps to the garage door, closed the bay doors, reached for the door handle, and....dang. The door was locked.....
So, I re-opened the bay doors, hobbled down the steps, around the back of the house, through the screened in porch, and through the back door. I went through the breakfast room and into the kitchen, thinking to take ibuprofen and get some ice. By this time, the knee was holding no weight whatsoever. I thought, "OK, if I can just make it upstairs and into bed, I won't have to wake up Julia. Maybe, it will be better tomorrow." I abandoned the idea of the ibuprofen and the ice. I leaned on the counters and chair rails and got around to the steps. But that was as far as I could go. My willpower to go further was waning, and I was coming to the strong realization that there was something substantially wrong. I didn't want to go upstairs and then come back down later.
So, I sat on one of the bottom steps and called upstairs, "Julia....can I borrow you for a few minutes." Julia came downstairs pretty quickly. She can Tell. (Capitalization intended.) We discussed the possibility of waiting until morning (I discussed, she rebutted), but soon we concluded to go to the Emergency Room. She called my parents. They live fairly nearby and came over very quickly. Mom watched the kids, and Dad took Julia and I to the hospital.
It was a chore getting me into the car, because the right leg was completely gone.
They put me into a wheelchair at the hospital. Literally, various nurses kept running my leg into objects. I would call those occasions "Pain Spikes."
It turns out that I broke my tibia at the top and just below the knee. It is an "L" shaped break 3 or 4 inches long. I don't have to have surgery, though.
I can tell you that breaking a leg really smarts...it's a close thing between a broken leg and a screwed up ACL, but I think the ACL injury wins the pain quotient.
I never knew it, but a broken leg makes you lose weight. I've lost 9 lbs. so far. It also makes me very tired. I sleep longer and get tired more quickly. Fortunately, I have people who take care of me (Julia, Carla - my secretary, Dee - one of my law partners, Mom, Dad...lots of others...Thank you.)
Life carries tolls that must be paid. If you are going to live fully, it's ok to take some risk. You breathe more fully. In the end, this is who I am.
So, the next time I am out watering trees late at night and Scout is running around the farm, don't be surprised if you hear me call out, "C'mon, Scout. Let's Run!"
But keep 911 ready on speed dial.
Be Blessed.
JDS
