Ruptured!

As I was lying on the ultrasound table, the ultrasound technician was getting ready to take pretty pictures of my calf muscle, he asked me "so where does it hurt in your calf".  After pondering the question for a few split questions, I couldn't help but bring to his attention that it wasn't my calf, but my ankle area (that coupled with the purple, black, and green discoloration near my ankle).  After he gave my ankle a quick one over, without warning or sugar-coating of the facts, he blurts out that my achilles tendon is torn almost completely.  He continued to mention that I would need surgery and that they would have to break the tendon completely in order to reattach it.  Thank you ultrasound technician.  Needless to say, my heart sank into the pit of my stomach.  Oh well, you win some, you lose most.

After talking to my parents, my health insurance, and my flight insurance, I decided to come home and get the surgery, so that I could set foot on North American soil for the first time in 14 months.  Also, I have more people to take care of me during my 6 weeks of non-weight bearing boredom.  Now its time for rehab, which will be done in a large boot, while I'm in Europe again.  So that's fun, right?

Socialized Healthcare

           It works for somethings, but not for everything.  Spanish doctors have a routine they must follow in order to treat every patient.  1.  Nurse brings you in and asks you what's wrong, then sends you back to the waiting room.  2.  You get an x-ray, when in doubt, get an x-ray, then back to the waiting room.  3. You talk to the doctor, he prescribes 600 mg of ibuprofen and tells you to ice and elevate.  
          When I got injured I expected the same exact visit at the emergency room, but to my dismay, they skipped the second step.  I couldn't believe it when they called me directly to the doctors office after I had spoken with the nurse.  What did I do right?  Then I realized, the only difference from my first visit and my second visit was that I was actually seriously injured.
           Now here's where socialistic healthcare breaks down a bit.  I went into emergency room on Sunday and got the usual.  Then the doctor said that I would need to get an ecografía (which I thought was an MRI, but ends up it is a ultrasound) and then I would have to see a traumatologo (orthopedic surgeon).  Alright, let's do it.  Well, first you have to call your insurance company again, then you have to get them to fax over a document saying that they will cover the ultrasound, but only if its in the scheduling. Yay.
            Well, thanks to the fine medical work in Spain, I was diagnosed, after 2 minutes of twisting and turning my ankle in every which direction, with a torn inner calf muscle, but make sure that you schedule an ultrasound to make sure.  Well doc, can I work?  Sure, go ahead, just try not to walk too much, but that should be no problem.  Awesome.  No notion of crutches, just ice, elevate, and medicate.  Thanks doc, that sounds great, or does it.  Stay tuned for the finale in the next couple of days.

Basic Spanish
ordenador-computer

Advanced Spanish
ecografía-ultrasound

Basic Basque
n/a

British English
n/a

Shit Happens

In the infamous words of my friend Anna, "you win some, you lose most".  Maybe not the first person to say it, but the first time I heard it.  However, I'm more of the glass 3/4s full kinda guy.  Mostly I have a positive outlook on life, but then again I haven't faced my fair share of hardships in life.  I've never had to really work at many things in life, tragedy tends to stay away, and I've never been seriously injured...until now.

After living in Spain for about 9 months without any type of sports or fitness in my life I spent my summer playing football (soccer) with some pretty good chaps from the Chelsea football club and rekindled a desire and thirst for competition.  However, I noticed that after about a week or two of playing everyday, my body was in no shape to keep up with the rigorous physical demand that sports impose on ones body.  After sustaining a minor injury in my thigh, I vowed that I would join a gym and start playing sports on more of a regular basis.  About 1 month ago I joined a gym and nearly a week after joining the gym I found a football team to play on Sundays.  Unfortunately, I'm not one of those people who has two speeds, so I played as though I had been playing for years.  Don't get me wrong, I consider myself rather knowledgeable in terms of training my body and doing so correctly.  For example, during my training in the gym, I stretched after a short warm-up, did cardio after stretching, stretched after cardio and lifted weights, then stretched.  Not to mention, I started running 15-20 minutes for the first couple of weeks and then gradually raised it to 50 minutes.  However, I could have never predicted what has befallen me in my 3rd game playing football.

It was a cold Sunday when we arrived around 8:30 am for a 9:30 game.  We wanted to get out there get some practice and warm-ups.  When 9:30 rolled around, we were informed that are captain read the schedule wrong and we didn't play until 12:30.  We all agreed to head home and come back at 11:30 to get warmed up again.  Now we're not the best team, we had numerous inexperienced members (myself included), but this day a number of them were gone and we had found some more competitive people to play in their stead.  The first have we we're down by 8, but optimistic.  We play on cement, so goals were easier to come by.  Towards the beginning of the 2nd half the other team had a corner.  I was by the back post awaiting to explode towards a header and as the ball was drawing nearer I pushed off to drive on the ball when someone kicked me as hard as I've ever felt in my life and it made a very loud noise.  Next thing I new I was on the ground looking around thinking to myself, "who kicked me"?  I saw nobody.  Not a soul.

I managed to drag myself off the field, because obviously they weren't going to stop for me.  Now when I got to safety, I was scanning the field for anyone with a concerned look on their face or too see if anyone was going to give me an apologetic nod or wave when I saw some guy limping a bit.  I thought to myself "that must be him".  Alright, I'm fine then right?  I was rubbing the area, which still hurt, but getting hit on bare skin in cold weather always leaves a stinging, numb sensation.  Not to mention, my teammates were looking for subs and waving me in while I was still nursing my leg.  Just give me five.  So I got up to begin to walk it off, do some checking on the ankle, and getting ready to reenter the game.  When I stood up, I leaned forward, OK, all good.  Then I leaned backward, nothing, and I immediately sat down.  Thats strange.  I kept asking our goalie, because I was right behind the goal, if he remembers if he saw anyone kick me.  He said that he didn't see anyone around me.  OK, maybe a language barrier.  Now when the game finished, I hobbled over to the other team and asked the same question, but everyone had the same answer.  So if no one kicked me, but I heard a loud noise and I have trouble walking, something is very bad, but what?  Stay tuned for the next post, but feel free to guess in the comment portion at the bottom.