Less than Ideal - July, 2021

Disclaimer:

The author is in physical, but mostly emotional distress at the time of this writing and as such some liberties may have been taken in the retelling of past events, assumptions of how certain traumas might have impacted them and paraphrasing of things certain individuals may or may not have said. The events are written as the author honestly recalls them.

Against my wishes, I have once again become crippled.

A little backstory first.

A Balancing Act

The summer of 2011, Dr. Sprague uncovered his old Schwinn unicycle while cleaning the garage. A remnant of a more optimistic period in his life when he thought that boomerangs, yo-yos and juggling weren't cool enough hobbies so he sought to learn one more. At 50 something, he decided that his unicycling dreams were the fool's errand of younger joints and promptly handed it off to his youngest of a mere 14 years.

Much of that summer I did laps around the old chevy van, adding a few extra bumps and scrapes to the fully depreciated vehicle. Weeks of practice finally paid off as I sucessfully rode the scwhinn around our driveway and showed off my new unicycling prowess to the neighbors. I got so good at it that Dr. Sprague even bought me a shiny new unicycle with a better seat and pedals. It felt like there was no limit to what I could accomplish with my new talent.

The one-wheeled honeymoon was short-lived though, as I ka-splatted on the flattest and smoothest stretch of pavement on the entire block, directly in front of all the neighbors. Immediately my feeble pain-ometer was pegged shooting up to a debilitating ten as I cried out and clutched my right knee.

I "enjoyed" a leisurely ride to the nearest emergency room in the back of the family Ford Flex where I whimpered and cried in the waiting room for a length of time commensurate to the efficiency you'd expect out of the American healthcare system. Eventually someone took pity and determined that x-rays were in order.

With much difficulty they imaged the side of my knee and then the radiologist asked me to please straighten my knee for the final x-ray from the top. I informed them that that would not be possible. In response a lab tech forcibly straightened my knee inducing the singular, most horrifically acute physical pain, that I have felt in my entire life. Sure enough, they got all my x-rays and removed my quivering body via wheelchair.

It was determined that I had nothing more than a sprain and was over-reacting.

They sent me home with crutches and orders to avoid things with too many or too few wheels. After all, "sometimes a bad sprain is worse than a break." I did my best to resume my idyllic 8th grade life.

Six weeks later I'm limping around on my good left leg and my "sprained" right leg, trying to walk it off. Forced marches through PE class, scouting trips and Andy Warhol museums all on my lame leg. A leg that was stubbornly refusing to get any better.

I couldn't run, I couldn't jump and worst of all I couldn't unicycle!

My mother finally took me to a different urgent care facility to get x-rayed again. The radiologist asked me to straighten my knee as much as I could, but was kind enough not to make me pass out by forcing it straight.

The results were unequivocable, I had suffered a tibial plateau fracture (translation: tiny chunk of bone wedged in front of knee stopping it from moving all the way like a lego brick stuck in the hinge of a door).

...hurray

In short order I went to U of M, got cut open and screwed back together (the screw alone was $712). I was bed-ridden for over a week, then wheelchair bound for most of the school year. I couldn't carry my school bag, I couldn't put on my shoes, I couldn't even take a shower unassisted. What little independence a 14 year old enjoyed I no longer had.

Worse than that was the pain. Every bump of the wheelchair, every step on my crutches, every scrape, bounce or fall was blinding pain. It always ached, a numbing, grain of agony lodged beneath my skin, embedded into my bones. It was omniprescent and inescapable.

I was so young yet I felt I was dying, it was hard for to even imagine an end to my suffering. One thing kept me going though. Through it all, I remembered the inspiring words of my grandmother when the handicap door button was blocked by the lost and found table or when I'd drop my crutches or when my homework slipped from my bag...

"At least you'll never get back on that blasted Unicycle."

There's no singular end date when you can say you're cured. It just gets a little bit better each day, hurts a little less until you can scarcely remember the ailment that had once debilitated you.

Nearly a year after I'd fallen, I once again rode my Unicycle.

I once again had my health and could enjoy life the way the ADA had intended. A little bit older, a little bit wiser and a hair more cautious I went back to being a kid instead of a cripple.

Which brings us back to the present...

A Bad (nautical) Flight

In preparing the Perseverance for cast-off, there are a number of important steps. One of those steps is to unplug the shore power and safely coil the two 30A power cables on the top deck.

The morning of Saturday July 10th, the new crew of the Perseverance was preparing for their first overnight journey to visit nearby Washington island.

After properly stowing the shore power cables I attempted an improper and dynamic egress maneuver from the starboard Davit deck to the starboard walkway that did not include the stairs. I had also failed to properly observe PPE guidelines and had loose clothing which caught on the protuding wingnuts of the primary VHF attenae during afformentioned improper maneuver.

Improper procedure and neglect of PPE guidelines resulted in a sprained ankle and a torn long sleeve shirt both belonging to myself. Our departure was delayed by roughly 30 minutes and a Marina employee who witnessed the incident may have been emotionally traumatized.

Due to a lack of bruising and distressing pain, the call was made to proceed with our itinerary to Washington Island after procuring an ankle wrap and high-quality, top of the line wooden crutches from the local second hand store.

I managed to hobble around and enjoy Washington Island thanks to the help of crew member Lauren but with fun, colorful bruises showing up I decided I wanted to get medical attention on the mainland. We returned a day early and got some x-rays done at a Yooper hospital.

The diagnosis is a bad sprain and treatment will be several weeks of crutches and keeping my leg elevated. A damper on my summer but one I should hopefully recover from soon.

So far the damage to my pride has been substantially more than the damage to my leg.

But for a few weeks at least, I'm crippled again unable to use my right leg. A stark reminder that one should never take their good health, should one be so lucky to have it, for granted.

Someday, hopefully soon, I'll be able to ride my Unicycle on the boat.