Yesterday was the day for the first post-surgery checkup, unless you include the fact that Dr. V very kindly called me after the surgery to make sure I wasn't in agonizing pain. (Not with all those fun pills you gave me, Doc...)
Ron, who mightily carried me off the mountain after the injury to avoid the World Tour becoming a frozen dessert, was kind enough to pick me up and take me over to the offices of CU Sports Medicine. Imagine this for yourselves, Fans -- the waiting room is adorned with photos of college athletes playing every sport imaginable, from football to tennis and ice hockey.
"So, are all these people former patients?" I hopefully asked the woman at the front desk.
"Oh no, those are just pictures," came the reply.
Hmph.
Well, there was nary a wait before I was invited to hobble back to the exam room. Things were clearly not busy, because shortly after that Sarah the X-ray tech led me back for more doses of tasty radiation. This time was much more comfortable than the last, if for nothing else than that I didn't have to try to hold my legs up while being rolled in a wheelchair completely lacking in footrests.
The pics done, I was back to the exam room and presently got a visit from Dr. V, who is more formally known as Dr. Armando Vidal but maybe sometimes in his weekend softball league gets called "Armsy." I don't actually know this, but I feel free to speculate.
Armsy was pleased to look at my freakish x-rays with the giant screws and humored me as I asked the most frequent questions I got from World Tour fans.
"So, some people want to know, am I going to set off metal detectors?"
"No, definitely not."
Sidebar here, since I currently can't go through a metal detector without using my metal crutches, that's a bit of a moot question.
"Well, some other people are wondering if they can get magnets to stick to my leg."
"No, that's not going to work, either."
Sorry, people. And I was also informed that no, I will not be able to see the screws poking out of my leg, nor will they interfere with my socks.
All this while, the nurse (whose name I did not catch) cut off the bandages around my cast and cut through the padding. Then Dr. V, showing the brute strength required to be an orthopedic surgeon, cracked the plaster wide open like it were, um, something that breaks easily.
Then it was on to getting to know Das Boot, v3. Yes, I have now been in three separate boots and one cast. Party! This particular one involves 27 velcro straps or so and an air bladder that works almost exactly like Reebok Pumps did. Totally took me back to the days when my shoes could distract me for hours. (Not that they had pumps in them, just an aside.)
Dr. V then informed me of my prognosis here on out. In honor of the Clinton administration's ill-fated attempt at drug interdiction in South America, called Plan Colombia, I am going to refer to this schedule as Plan Gordo. And here's what it entails:
Plan Gordo
- Four weeks of non-weight bearing (crip on, cripple!)
- Six weeks of partial weight bearing (using one crutch or -- get this -- A CANE! Snoop, I'm with ya!)
- Out come the screws, courtesy of our good friend Stanley
- Six weeks of no sports that involve "cutting or pivoting"
But before I get to that point, I've gotta start the unfortunate process of actually moving my happy ankle. Flex it, Armsy says. Make the alphabet with your toes.
Maybe Elmo alphabet tapes will help?
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