4:45Am
Sunday.
Time to rise.
After about 30minutes of sleeping its time to embark on a handicap accessible vacation. The day was early, the air was crisp, and a sense of anticipation hung there like hangers in closet waiting to be torn off in a hurry as we left for the airport. I was a little nervous about heading to a busy airport with my disability but I was definitley to tired to notice as I crutched around like a drunk. So far, so good, everything was working out okay as we checked out bags and headed to the security check point. Maybe everything would be alright, maybe this trip was going to work out okay..... yea, maybe.
My "condition"
"Sir because you have a condition you can board first when you get to the gate."
Excuse me?
My condition?
Who the f*ck are you and what the f*ck is my condition?
This was news to me. I wasn't aware a broken fibula was considered by airport staff to be a "condition." Whatever, I laugh at the term. No big deal, I'll let this slide, the day is early and I got plenty more important things to go take care of. Maybe one day I'll forgive him and he can earn my respect but right now I'll just chuckle to myself, with my condition.
"Please step aside and come with me sir"
Onto airport security. Surely they would be nicer then some bum at the baggage check-in. I couldn't be more wrong. Not only did they demand I put my crutches up for x-rays but as soon as I limp through the metal detector I am informed by airport security that I had been randomly selected for additional screening.
Random my ass.
I now know the pain and humilation felt by so many people of the Arabic culture and Islamic religion. To all the repressed peoples of the world, I know what its like to be discriminated against. There wasn't anything random about my selection. I am a pretty frequent traveler and it just so happens that the one time I wear a protective boot over my leg aid in healing my broken fibula I am 'randomly' selected to be additionaly screened. Yea, f*ck you gov't.
Red cheeks and humiliation aside I am brought into a little booth and forced to sit down. After receiving a myriad of complicated, vague, and very inappropriate directions from the officers I manage to pull myself together and limp away towards the gate with the little diginity I have remaining.
11:30am
Land, shuttle, hotel, depart for Busch Gardens. After a whirlwind of activity and being pierced with the daggers of people whom have never seen a temporary handicap person I find myself deep in conversation with our shuttle driver.
Of course the topic of conversation is broken bones. Coincidence? What do you think. Although a bit outspoken, he made for a pleasant chat on the way. Anyway, I could go on all day about the shuttle trips and the drivers but I don't want to get into that right now.
Upon arriving at Busch Gardens I am super excited to head to the stroller, scooter, and wheel chair rental facility which is conveintly located at the entrance of the park. The people there are friendly and I receive my very first wheel chair that I can actually call my own (it comes with a name tag that I can hang from the top). Off to the first ride.
I was given a letter that comes with a set of directions for handicap guests at the park and after reading them I was confused and a little worried that it wouldn't be nearly as awesome as I once had anticipated. Arriving at the first ride things begin to change as I step up into this sweet ass world of VIP treatment at amusement parks. Riding right up the exit ramp I am greeted by the ride operator and instructed that my party and I will be taking off on the next available seat and finally.. finally I begin to see the light. This light, would only be getting brighter. After pulling in from a thrilling ride on the first coaster of the day I ask if I can ride again. The guy responds by telling me I need to get off and walk around. I think he means get off for a second and come back on. However, as soon as he sees my 'condition' he immediately apologizes, "I thought you were just some random dude, my bad sir." I tell him no worries while he shakes my hand and I accept his apology. No worries indeed. The rest of the day I received much the same treatment from employees of the park. They even seem to be friendly and eager to talk to a handsome young stud in a wheel chair. One of them managed to steal my heart after some chat while I waited in probably the only line I had to wait in the whole time at the park. Pixie was her first name and her last name, which I will not share, made me wonder if she worked as a stripper or at the very least was in some way affiliated with the adult entertainment industry (her body really made me wonder as well), but enough about her. She was one of the many nice employees who took care of the special needs people at the park and I thank her for that. I will forgive her for using my leg to start a conversation with me, I only hope that she is secure enough in herself to have started talking to me without such an easy opener. Unfortunately I did not have enough cash on hand to rent Busch Garden to myself for the day and this meant that the park was open to the general public.
Sure the patrons of the park weren't too happy or polite when it came to handling my 'condition.' But f*ck them, they don't have a broken fibula. I shouldn't be too hard on the other patrons, its not their fault. I can understand why they stared at me. Its tough for little kids, parents, girlfriends, tourists, locals, etc, its tough for them to see a handsome, healthy, and well built man confined to a wheel chair. They seem to need to figure out why someone of my nature is trapped, I watch their eyes scan my body and then after a brief eye f*ck- if she's a confident gal, they noticed the boot on my leg and immediatley seem to relax as they have their answer. This beautiful man (me) won't be stuck like that forever, thank god.
Conclusion
I certainly had my thrills of adventure and interaction at the park that day. And because of the length of this story and the numerous detials and little adventure that ensued I will not go into detail. This is simply memoirs of a temporary handicap, not a minute by minute account of JR's life. I do, like all Americans, have my rights to privacy and I am choosing to exercise mine at this point in time. I apologize for leaving you on edge with the events of the night time, especially after such an exhilirating day.
The special vacation was very special indeed. It was a lot of fun and I could probably write two 300 page novels on everything that happened. Traveling as a temporary handicap, as with everything in life we do, was not easy but I, like we all do, managed to press on and face the world with one healthy fibula as if I had two.
So go out and life your life (ay ay ay) with two good legs (or with one for my fellow handicap readers) and remember as, Henry David Thoreau said, "we should come home from adventures, and perils, and discoveries every day with new experience and character," I know I certainly have, and I hope you will too.
- JR
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Friday, March 6, 2009
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Day 24 - My @ss hurts... no homo
Sometimes we do things at night that we know maybe we shouldn't or that we realize will only be setting us up for an awkward morning. Sometimes you think find true love. Only you catch the early part of the red dragon's tip in your behind when a couple of your friends jump out of the apartment, blind folded ready to double team the dragon when he suddenly takes off and knocks you down quicker than you can say, 'lets get some dinner first.'
So then you wake up in the morning and those empty promise you made to yourself the night before wear off, one too many of that devil's candy made the situation seem promising last night. Last night, yea last night, ha, it all seemed like a good idea last night. Now that I wake this morning, my @ss hurts, and the realty sets in.
I got drilled in the butt by the red dragon and now it hurts.
Sure we were just a bunch of guys goofing around last night, yea we had a few beers, but it was all in good fun. Once someone through out the idea we all just laughed at it. But then we all realized that this could really work and something cool was about to happen. No one could have seen it going this far but like I said we were just young and stupid. But that's what college is right? The time to be young and stupid and experiment.
I guess it all started when we began talking about the movie Stripes and how we all liked the girl nudie parts, strictly the girl parts. Well something became apparent during this discussion, and that was, it was time to leave and actually do what we all intended to do on this night.
In order for all of us to be satisfied and get what we wanted from each other we had to do a little planning as to not get caught. And that is where it all went south, wrong.
Sure I was the guinea pig to go first and see what it would feel like but we only had to fool one person before the whole gang banged their way down the stairs and in the back door. It was child's play, simple, easy, we would no longer be a bunch of men locked in the closet of no adventure, we were going to come out and execute this exciting plan.
So it commenced. At first everything was going smoother and slicker than using a 16oz bottle of KY for one session. We didn't know that he only came for one of us. We couldn't have seen this coming (pun intended). As soon as I opened the back door and started to put my crutch in the rest of the gang couldn't control themselves upon seeing this crutch enter the back door and they all raced to the finish line so they too could come in the back door. Apparently we had a first timer who didn't like this and simply wasn't ready to let eight guys in the back door with me in the front. So he jerked away a little too hard an too fast.
This was bad news, especially for me, a temporary disabled. Bang. The back door of the car hits me in the butt and I fall. If only our friend would have waited for me to open the back car door and climb in the front door so he could give us all a car ride in the van that we call the red dragon back to my house to watch some rugby then none of this shenanigans would have happened.
However the bruise from the impact of the metal sliding car door is ok, I may have exaggerated for the purposes of entertainment, but don't worry Coach JR will land on his feet as always.
Remember, "the hardest thing about roller blading is having to tell your parents that you are gay," good luck.
So then you wake up in the morning and those empty promise you made to yourself the night before wear off, one too many of that devil's candy made the situation seem promising last night. Last night, yea last night, ha, it all seemed like a good idea last night. Now that I wake this morning, my @ss hurts, and the realty sets in.
I got drilled in the butt by the red dragon and now it hurts.
Sure we were just a bunch of guys goofing around last night, yea we had a few beers, but it was all in good fun. Once someone through out the idea we all just laughed at it. But then we all realized that this could really work and something cool was about to happen. No one could have seen it going this far but like I said we were just young and stupid. But that's what college is right? The time to be young and stupid and experiment.
I guess it all started when we began talking about the movie Stripes and how we all liked the girl nudie parts, strictly the girl parts. Well something became apparent during this discussion, and that was, it was time to leave and actually do what we all intended to do on this night.
In order for all of us to be satisfied and get what we wanted from each other we had to do a little planning as to not get caught. And that is where it all went south, wrong.
Sure I was the guinea pig to go first and see what it would feel like but we only had to fool one person before the whole gang banged their way down the stairs and in the back door. It was child's play, simple, easy, we would no longer be a bunch of men locked in the closet of no adventure, we were going to come out and execute this exciting plan.
So it commenced. At first everything was going smoother and slicker than using a 16oz bottle of KY for one session. We didn't know that he only came for one of us. We couldn't have seen this coming (pun intended). As soon as I opened the back door and started to put my crutch in the rest of the gang couldn't control themselves upon seeing this crutch enter the back door and they all raced to the finish line so they too could come in the back door. Apparently we had a first timer who didn't like this and simply wasn't ready to let eight guys in the back door with me in the front. So he jerked away a little too hard an too fast.
This was bad news, especially for me, a temporary disabled. Bang. The back door of the car hits me in the butt and I fall. If only our friend would have waited for me to open the back car door and climb in the front door so he could give us all a car ride in the van that we call the red dragon back to my house to watch some rugby then none of this shenanigans would have happened.
However the bruise from the impact of the metal sliding car door is ok, I may have exaggerated for the purposes of entertainment, but don't worry Coach JR will land on his feet as always.
Remember, "the hardest thing about roller blading is having to tell your parents that you are gay," good luck.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Day 22 - F*ck Crutches
This sucks. My calf in my right leg is as soft as a prepubescent overweight teenage boy's left tit who is actually borderline obese because he spend too much time inside on his rear end playing video games with his right hand or watching mini-star trek marathons all day with his right hand as well.
I am soo over crutches and being handicap and getting sympathy cat and having people hold doors for me and bring me my food and not being able to work out my beautiful legs (thank you lady on the train this summer, that compliment really meant a lot).
Let's see what Doctor d*ck head says tomorrow.
I am soo over crutches and being handicap and getting sympathy cat and having people hold doors for me and bring me my food and not being able to work out my beautiful legs (thank you lady on the train this summer, that compliment really meant a lot).
Let's see what Doctor d*ck head says tomorrow.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Day 18 - Will Someone Please Tell...
(rants from a temporary handicap - at my temporarily slowed pace, I've noticed a few things)
Will someone please tell..
Comedy Central that no one wants to see Larry the Cable Guy Roasted?
-- that Carlos Mencia is not funny?
-- that Mad TV really needs to be taken off the air?
Ultimate Frisbee players that no one gives a shit about their sport?
-- that no one cares you are throwing a frisbee around in the quad while everyone is trying to walk to class and that you are so skilled enough you never hit anyone?
Self-conscious girls that is called being polite when you hold a door open for someone with crutches? So take a second and don't act like you didn't see me.
Quiznos that it doesn't take 45minutes to deliver everything.
My scuba instructor that I didn't break my leg on purpose to sabotage the Spring Break trip.
My teachers (except for one) that it would be nice if you could collect my test for me so I don't have to crutch all the way down the stairs to hand you my f*cking paper and then crutch all the way back the f*ck up, when you could've just grabbed it from me and saved everyone else in the room a 5 minute distraction. And then you have the balls to wonder why the last few questions were all wrong.
Fake concerned people who ask what happened to me a week or two later that I broke my fibula. Yes it is the little bone, yes I can bear weight soon, no you are not an expert on broken bones and any advice you give me will be taken with a grain of sh*t. Yes it does suck, thank you for your kind words. Yes my Spring Break plans got re-arranged. Yes, I know. It comes off in 8 weeks, now leave me alone unless you have another reason to talk to me.
Shy girls who have crush on me and needed a way to start the conversation with me, that your welcome. Only you can ask what happened to my leg. And to that girl with the really cute laugh that almost makes me want to chuckle when I hear it from across class every day, I'm glad you took advantage of the situation, see you Monday.
Everyone else, I love you. Keep being you because so far you haven't done anything to piss me off.
PS - To everyone who will be showing up to my dear friends birthday this weekend at my house, don't touch the f*cking stereo- no one cares about what you want to hear, you are not a f*cking DJ, and it is just plain rude. Also it will not be funny to anyone (especially the three handicap people in attendance) if you rearrange the handicap seating or sit in our handicap area, so don't do that. Have some f*cking respect and act like a half-way decent human being and maybe the opposite sex will find you somewhat attractive (guys I am sorry, I will be there though, good luck).
Remember, as they say in Albania, "every guest hates the others, and the host hates them all."
Coach JR, Out.
Will someone please tell..
Comedy Central that no one wants to see Larry the Cable Guy Roasted?
-- that Carlos Mencia is not funny?
-- that Mad TV really needs to be taken off the air?
Ultimate Frisbee players that no one gives a shit about their sport?
-- that no one cares you are throwing a frisbee around in the quad while everyone is trying to walk to class and that you are so skilled enough you never hit anyone?
Self-conscious girls that is called being polite when you hold a door open for someone with crutches? So take a second and don't act like you didn't see me.
Quiznos that it doesn't take 45minutes to deliver everything.
My scuba instructor that I didn't break my leg on purpose to sabotage the Spring Break trip.
My teachers (except for one) that it would be nice if you could collect my test for me so I don't have to crutch all the way down the stairs to hand you my f*cking paper and then crutch all the way back the f*ck up, when you could've just grabbed it from me and saved everyone else in the room a 5 minute distraction. And then you have the balls to wonder why the last few questions were all wrong.
Fake concerned people who ask what happened to me a week or two later that I broke my fibula. Yes it is the little bone, yes I can bear weight soon, no you are not an expert on broken bones and any advice you give me will be taken with a grain of sh*t. Yes it does suck, thank you for your kind words. Yes my Spring Break plans got re-arranged. Yes, I know. It comes off in 8 weeks, now leave me alone unless you have another reason to talk to me.
Shy girls who have crush on me and needed a way to start the conversation with me, that your welcome. Only you can ask what happened to my leg. And to that girl with the really cute laugh that almost makes me want to chuckle when I hear it from across class every day, I'm glad you took advantage of the situation, see you Monday.
Everyone else, I love you. Keep being you because so far you haven't done anything to piss me off.
PS - To everyone who will be showing up to my dear friends birthday this weekend at my house, don't touch the f*cking stereo- no one cares about what you want to hear, you are not a f*cking DJ, and it is just plain rude. Also it will not be funny to anyone (especially the three handicap people in attendance) if you rearrange the handicap seating or sit in our handicap area, so don't do that. Have some f*cking respect and act like a half-way decent human being and maybe the opposite sex will find you somewhat attractive (guys I am sorry, I will be there though, good luck).
Remember, as they say in Albania, "every guest hates the others, and the host hates them all."
Coach JR, Out.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Day 14 - I Get By With A Little Help From My Friends
Two weeks have gone by. This is the start of week three. Wow.
After all I have personally been through these past few days, and believe me its been a roller coaster ride, I still have much to be thankful for.
Yes, getting across the quad with one good leg in 15 minutes is extremely taxing on the upper body and doing this with people staring, judging, can be incredibly taxing for someone of weaker personal beliefs and confidence.
Yes, going up and down stairs is quite the show for even the most indifferent passerby, but yes I have managed to gracefully transgress every step in my way with a simplicity and ease that speaks volumes to an onlooker and makes them recall a time they saw a true guru be at home in their respective field.
Yes, getting my meals at dining facilities is a two, sometimes even three person job and I am only talking about the getting the food part. The whole getting to, getting inside, waiting in line, and eating (god forbid I forget my fork at festival when I sit down with my Tweed Farms) is a whole nother task that also requires a great deal of effort and makes me almost want to not eat at all (but to those that help you are all welcome for the special access parking that I provide).
Yes, waking up in the middle of the night to go urinate is not as glamorous as it once was. Yes, dealing with hangovers in the morning is a lot tougher with limited mobility. Yes, the opposite sex still does hit on me and sequentially attempt to close which I must say I am often not in the mood for after long days of walk- I mean crutching.
But negativity and complaints and ranting aside, after these past two weeks, and this past weekend especially, I have really began to learn about myself and began to truly accept myself for what I am these next 6-8 weeks. I am a temporary handicap, and I am damn proud of who I am.
I am not quite sure what caused this learning and appreciation of thy self to take place, but I guess it has something to do with the love and acceptance that rains down upon me by my peers and teachers when I attend class or by my friends and potential suitors when I arrive at a party.
Today when eating at lakeside (which I am sad to say has no handicap access- yes I man'd up and crutched up and down those stairs), my food preparation specialist decided to walk my sandwich out to me instead of calling my number and having me crutch over and pick it up, that was sweet of him.
This weekend a sweetheart with beautiful hazel eyes, brown hair, and a smile that could pierce the skin of a rhino from up to a 100 yards away, fell for my crutches (or maybe it was my incredible charm and ambition combined with my high level of optimism and eddie murphy laugh), and suggested that we lock ourselves away for the next three days to do nothing but make love and order take out.
Unfortunately I had to decline.
Being a temporary handicap, its important to watch what we eat given our limited mobility, although in hindsight it would've balanced out with a different activity but oh well, she was good for fueling my ego and filling my cup, I thank you for that darling, call me this weekend.
Yes, life may seem good to you two legged people, but thats only what you see. You don't see the day to day struggle we go through. The baths instead of showers. The sleeping with one leg elevated. The emptiness of not having every bone full and whole. Its tough. And I regretfuly need to say that a few of my friends have ended up joining me and departing on their own journey as temporary handicaps.
First there was Col. Trautman. A devastating injury that makes my broken fibula look like a mosquito bite on the inside of a fat kids thigh. He too was injured on the battlefield. Being the ranking officer and having much more couch time than I do, there is something to gain from him. This weekend I had the good fortune to learn a few ways to bedazzle my crutches as well as make them more handi-capable. Yes, frosted gold tips and a cup holder made of duct tape may soon be in JR's future but I will wait and see what else this clever bastard has up his sleeve. God speed in your recovery Colonel.
Then, most recently, there was Mousa (my good Pakistani friend from Rambo III). His was a tragic accident caused by that jackass Murdoch who left me to die in Rambo II (also left me at the hospital waiting for a damn ride). It seems Murdoch really is an a**hole, but thats a different story. After causing harm and breaking Mousa's fibula while out at a celebration he seems to think a few purple hearts and some McDonalds will take the pain away. Mousa, Trautman, and I know this is a bunch of political bullsh*t. Hey Murdoch, what don't you try giving him the 6-8 weeks of this life back. Mousa was a trooper though and managed to radio some friendlies to get him out of the hot zone. I wish you the best and look forward to seeing you living your life (ay ay ay), one crutch at a time with us by your side.
So to Trautman and Mousa, I know its tough and we shall overcome (as we do everytime). I want to leave you newly handicapped with this; when I was aiming my arrow (no pun there) at Lewis' eye (no pun there either) in my 4th movie, I was really giving him advice about being temporarily handicap, so rembember this:
"There isn't one of us that doesn't want to be someplace else. But this is what we do, this is who we are. Live for nothing, or die for something. It's your call."
- John Rambo
After all I have personally been through these past few days, and believe me its been a roller coaster ride, I still have much to be thankful for.
Yes, getting across the quad with one good leg in 15 minutes is extremely taxing on the upper body and doing this with people staring, judging, can be incredibly taxing for someone of weaker personal beliefs and confidence.
Yes, going up and down stairs is quite the show for even the most indifferent passerby, but yes I have managed to gracefully transgress every step in my way with a simplicity and ease that speaks volumes to an onlooker and makes them recall a time they saw a true guru be at home in their respective field.
Yes, getting my meals at dining facilities is a two, sometimes even three person job and I am only talking about the getting the food part. The whole getting to, getting inside, waiting in line, and eating (god forbid I forget my fork at festival when I sit down with my Tweed Farms) is a whole nother task that also requires a great deal of effort and makes me almost want to not eat at all (but to those that help you are all welcome for the special access parking that I provide).
Yes, waking up in the middle of the night to go urinate is not as glamorous as it once was. Yes, dealing with hangovers in the morning is a lot tougher with limited mobility. Yes, the opposite sex still does hit on me and sequentially attempt to close which I must say I am often not in the mood for after long days of walk- I mean crutching.
But negativity and complaints and ranting aside, after these past two weeks, and this past weekend especially, I have really began to learn about myself and began to truly accept myself for what I am these next 6-8 weeks. I am a temporary handicap, and I am damn proud of who I am.
I am not quite sure what caused this learning and appreciation of thy self to take place, but I guess it has something to do with the love and acceptance that rains down upon me by my peers and teachers when I attend class or by my friends and potential suitors when I arrive at a party.
Today when eating at lakeside (which I am sad to say has no handicap access- yes I man'd up and crutched up and down those stairs), my food preparation specialist decided to walk my sandwich out to me instead of calling my number and having me crutch over and pick it up, that was sweet of him.
This weekend a sweetheart with beautiful hazel eyes, brown hair, and a smile that could pierce the skin of a rhino from up to a 100 yards away, fell for my crutches (or maybe it was my incredible charm and ambition combined with my high level of optimism and eddie murphy laugh), and suggested that we lock ourselves away for the next three days to do nothing but make love and order take out.
Unfortunately I had to decline.
Being a temporary handicap, its important to watch what we eat given our limited mobility, although in hindsight it would've balanced out with a different activity but oh well, she was good for fueling my ego and filling my cup, I thank you for that darling, call me this weekend.
Yes, life may seem good to you two legged people, but thats only what you see. You don't see the day to day struggle we go through. The baths instead of showers. The sleeping with one leg elevated. The emptiness of not having every bone full and whole. Its tough. And I regretfuly need to say that a few of my friends have ended up joining me and departing on their own journey as temporary handicaps.
First there was Col. Trautman. A devastating injury that makes my broken fibula look like a mosquito bite on the inside of a fat kids thigh. He too was injured on the battlefield. Being the ranking officer and having much more couch time than I do, there is something to gain from him. This weekend I had the good fortune to learn a few ways to bedazzle my crutches as well as make them more handi-capable. Yes, frosted gold tips and a cup holder made of duct tape may soon be in JR's future but I will wait and see what else this clever bastard has up his sleeve. God speed in your recovery Colonel.
Then, most recently, there was Mousa (my good Pakistani friend from Rambo III). His was a tragic accident caused by that jackass Murdoch who left me to die in Rambo II (also left me at the hospital waiting for a damn ride). It seems Murdoch really is an a**hole, but thats a different story. After causing harm and breaking Mousa's fibula while out at a celebration he seems to think a few purple hearts and some McDonalds will take the pain away. Mousa, Trautman, and I know this is a bunch of political bullsh*t. Hey Murdoch, what don't you try giving him the 6-8 weeks of this life back. Mousa was a trooper though and managed to radio some friendlies to get him out of the hot zone. I wish you the best and look forward to seeing you living your life (ay ay ay), one crutch at a time with us by your side.
So to Trautman and Mousa, I know its tough and we shall overcome (as we do everytime). I want to leave you newly handicapped with this; when I was aiming my arrow (no pun there) at Lewis' eye (no pun there either) in my 4th movie, I was really giving him advice about being temporarily handicap, so rembember this:
"There isn't one of us that doesn't want to be someplace else. But this is what we do, this is who we are. Live for nothing, or die for something. It's your call."
- John Rambo
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Day 9 - Superfreak
"Unbelievable!"
"You're a mutant!"
"Are you the Wolverine?!"
"I've never seen such recovery!"
"Can we use you in clinical studies?"
"I think you're blood cells may cure cancer!"
These were some of the things I heard today as I went back to my doctor's office. This visit was a lot nicer than last weeks, and left me feeling a lot better. My recovery is coming along great. I look forward to being showered in compliments again at next weeks appointment.
Apparently, sometime between this weekend and last Wednesday, I had accidentally found the magical potion to heal bones:
- lots of milk
- Vitamin C
- extra vicodin
- moon shine
- Market One sandwiches
- Joose
- skipping class
- speed dating
- weed
- watching girls play volleyball
- exercise
- sushi
- Natural Light spiked with gin
- oovoo
- lap dances
- singing rugby songs
- dip or chewing tobacco
- playing the harmonica
- free dave's steak & cheese
- a threesome (with two girls)
- accidentally witness a barbershop quartet
- more weed
- a nerf dart gun
- a plastic rose in your boot
and of course
- love and support from my family and friends
DISCLAIMER NOTE: Currently I have a few independent researchers working on my case, so these findings are not official and must be used with the understanding that the author of this blog will assume no liability for taking my advice. All tips given above must be approved by a certified medical practitioner and in no way what so ever am I to be responsible for your actions. When these results are confirmed in the lab, I will post back here and let you know, but until then don't try to be like coach JR, because:
"I'm Coach JR, yes I'm the real Coach JR
All you other Coach JR's are just imitating
So won't the real Coach JR please stand up,
please stand up, please stand up?"
Unfortunately I can only stand up right now with the help of my crutches, but you get the point.
"You're a mutant!"
"Are you the Wolverine?!"
"I've never seen such recovery!"
"Can we use you in clinical studies?"
"I think you're blood cells may cure cancer!"
These were some of the things I heard today as I went back to my doctor's office. This visit was a lot nicer than last weeks, and left me feeling a lot better. My recovery is coming along great. I look forward to being showered in compliments again at next weeks appointment.
Apparently, sometime between this weekend and last Wednesday, I had accidentally found the magical potion to heal bones:
- lots of milk
- Vitamin C
- extra vicodin
- moon shine
- Market One sandwiches
- Joose
- skipping class
- speed dating
- weed
- watching girls play volleyball
- exercise
- sushi
- Natural Light spiked with gin
- oovoo
- lap dances
- singing rugby songs
- dip or chewing tobacco
- playing the harmonica
- free dave's steak & cheese
- a threesome (with two girls)
- accidentally witness a barbershop quartet
- more weed
- a nerf dart gun
- a plastic rose in your boot
and of course
- love and support from my family and friends
DISCLAIMER NOTE: Currently I have a few independent researchers working on my case, so these findings are not official and must be used with the understanding that the author of this blog will assume no liability for taking my advice. All tips given above must be approved by a certified medical practitioner and in no way what so ever am I to be responsible for your actions. When these results are confirmed in the lab, I will post back here and let you know, but until then don't try to be like coach JR, because:
"I'm Coach JR, yes I'm the real Coach JR
All you other Coach JR's are just imitating
So won't the real Coach JR please stand up,
please stand up, please stand up?"
Unfortunately I can only stand up right now with the help of my crutches, but you get the point.
Day 7 - UPDATE: There's only two types of people in this world...
Those that entertain, and those that observe...
With my family and friends in town for the weekend I decided to go shopping for my 1 week anniversary present. It was an easy pick after eating dinner to head to Target, one of my favorite large retail chains. Needless to say Target had accommodations for handicap people like me and I was able to take full advantage of them in order to enhance my shopping experience.
When I was shown my method of transportation around the store, I literally fell through the floor in awe (good rhymes, I know). I hopped on that bad boy with a great big smile, a smile that would soon fade, yet quickly return when I got over those low life, ignorant pr*cks. Unfortunately my wheels were parked right in the entrance/exit. This meant some people were going to have to wait as I backed out and journeyed into the store. Oh, f*ck me, this made some people a little bit UNN-HAppy, cry me a f*cking river, I am handicap, yes you need to wait a second while I figure out how to work this mamma jamma.
Apparently as my party and I were arriving to Target there was a 50% off sale at Golden Corral that only Target customers had heard of and were all piling out of the store with whatever they had in their carts and leaving at the exact same moment. And I also am going to assume that no one in the store, at the time of my arrival, had ever seen such a good looking and well built fella of my stature as a temporarily handicap. Yes - beautiful people get hurt too. Yes - we (beautiful people) do have bowel movements too.
For the 3 minutes it took to get this vehicle and myself to embark on my shopping extravaganza a crowd of twenty had paused to watch the driving unfold (good thing I am not someone of similar sex or heritage as Lucy Lui). Suddenly, as the beaming rays from twenty plus people staring at you, judging you, and just as a feeling of embarrassment and humiliation crept up I remembered that [breaks into song]: there's only two types of people in this world. Those that entertain, and those that observe.
Bang, smile came back. I love being special. :-)
Sure it only had one and half speeds but it was awesome. I had a horn that sounded like a fire alarm going off (made a few people flinch and a little boy cry back to mommy after he picked up the double barrel, bolt action nerf dart gun that I wanted and ended up buying).
You maybe thinking, jeez coach JR that thing looks pretty dangerous, how does it keep you and other handicap safe? Have no fear, I can assure you I was in very good hands during the target shopping experience. My mobile shopping cart unit (MSCU from here on out) was equipped with plenty of safety features. When going in reverse it made a similar sound as the horn did (yes parallel parking this thing was quite the show). Annoying- yes, worth it- definitely. All a temporary handicap needs is more psychological problems. Can you imagine running over a baby while reversing in the MSCU just because you went to past the moisturizing section too fast and the 2 for 1 KY sale only caught your eye when it was out of reach? I don't want to, and I didn't have to thanks to this safety measure.
The MSCU also came stock with two arm rests that folded down and acted like car doors keeping me secure when making those sharp turns. And when I say sharp turns, I mean this thing could turn on a dime, I was literally 2 inches from a glass vase when I looked back after a cute blonde with tight black spandex pants and curves to boot sashayed into the over-the-counter medication aisle : - /, when I quickly turned to the left without even making the vase shaking in my speed wake.
Sure reaching for things on the top shelves was hard, but everyone wants to help a handicap to feel good about themselves, remember. Looks like that blonde was going to come in handy;-). The MSCU had a shopping capacity of 120lbs, which at first I was concerned about but then I realized I did not need 120lbs worth of sh*t so I was going to be okay.
After touring the store with my new found ease of mobility(something I miss whilst being on crutches) and having picked out all the items that would conclude this shopping adventure, it was time to check out. And this was when I first learned that having a handicap pass wasn't just for parking, but for cutting lines as well (a gift I took out with me that evening and used on the hordes of women waiting in line for the bathroom with their friends, silly girls didn't know what hit them when I crutched over and the girls coming out held the door as I crutched in to do my business, oh well, f*ck them- most of them could use a little of not getting there way, anyway).
Unfortunately now that I had purchased all my sh*t I had to return the MSCU and hop back onto my to favorite metal sticks that normal people call crutches but we like to call them by more vulgar names because they aren't as nice as a wheel chair or MSCU or even MWU (figure it out). Whatever. Time for reality again. After parking the MSCU I was handed my crutches and out I go, leaving behind the red paradise, where for about thirty minutes, I was once again, an equal.
Sure this moment was a bit saddening, but remember, as John Milton once mentioned to me over a cup of coffee, "The mind is its own place, and in itself, can make heaven of Hell, and a hell of Heaven." I think I will make heaven of this hell.
With my family and friends in town for the weekend I decided to go shopping for my 1 week anniversary present. It was an easy pick after eating dinner to head to Target, one of my favorite large retail chains. Needless to say Target had accommodations for handicap people like me and I was able to take full advantage of them in order to enhance my shopping experience.
When I was shown my method of transportation around the store, I literally fell through the floor in awe (good rhymes, I know). I hopped on that bad boy with a great big smile, a smile that would soon fade, yet quickly return when I got over those low life, ignorant pr*cks. Unfortunately my wheels were parked right in the entrance/exit. This meant some people were going to have to wait as I backed out and journeyed into the store. Oh, f*ck me, this made some people a little bit UNN-HAppy, cry me a f*cking river, I am handicap, yes you need to wait a second while I figure out how to work this mamma jamma.
Apparently as my party and I were arriving to Target there was a 50% off sale at Golden Corral that only Target customers had heard of and were all piling out of the store with whatever they had in their carts and leaving at the exact same moment. And I also am going to assume that no one in the store, at the time of my arrival, had ever seen such a good looking and well built fella of my stature as a temporarily handicap. Yes - beautiful people get hurt too. Yes - we (beautiful people) do have bowel movements too.
For the 3 minutes it took to get this vehicle and myself to embark on my shopping extravaganza a crowd of twenty had paused to watch the driving unfold (good thing I am not someone of similar sex or heritage as Lucy Lui). Suddenly, as the beaming rays from twenty plus people staring at you, judging you, and just as a feeling of embarrassment and humiliation crept up I remembered that [breaks into song]: there's only two types of people in this world. Those that entertain, and those that observe.
Bang, smile came back. I love being special. :-)
Sure it only had one and half speeds but it was awesome. I had a horn that sounded like a fire alarm going off (made a few people flinch and a little boy cry back to mommy after he picked up the double barrel, bolt action nerf dart gun that I wanted and ended up buying).
You maybe thinking, jeez coach JR that thing looks pretty dangerous, how does it keep you and other handicap safe? Have no fear, I can assure you I was in very good hands during the target shopping experience. My mobile shopping cart unit (MSCU from here on out) was equipped with plenty of safety features. When going in reverse it made a similar sound as the horn did (yes parallel parking this thing was quite the show). Annoying- yes, worth it- definitely. All a temporary handicap needs is more psychological problems. Can you imagine running over a baby while reversing in the MSCU just because you went to past the moisturizing section too fast and the 2 for 1 KY sale only caught your eye when it was out of reach? I don't want to, and I didn't have to thanks to this safety measure.
The MSCU also came stock with two arm rests that folded down and acted like car doors keeping me secure when making those sharp turns. And when I say sharp turns, I mean this thing could turn on a dime, I was literally 2 inches from a glass vase when I looked back after a cute blonde with tight black spandex pants and curves to boot sashayed into the over-the-counter medication aisle : - /, when I quickly turned to the left without even making the vase shaking in my speed wake.
Sure reaching for things on the top shelves was hard, but everyone wants to help a handicap to feel good about themselves, remember. Looks like that blonde was going to come in handy;-). The MSCU had a shopping capacity of 120lbs, which at first I was concerned about but then I realized I did not need 120lbs worth of sh*t so I was going to be okay.
After touring the store with my new found ease of mobility(something I miss whilst being on crutches) and having picked out all the items that would conclude this shopping adventure, it was time to check out. And this was when I first learned that having a handicap pass wasn't just for parking, but for cutting lines as well (a gift I took out with me that evening and used on the hordes of women waiting in line for the bathroom with their friends, silly girls didn't know what hit them when I crutched over and the girls coming out held the door as I crutched in to do my business, oh well, f*ck them- most of them could use a little of not getting there way, anyway).
Unfortunately now that I had purchased all my sh*t I had to return the MSCU and hop back onto my to favorite metal sticks that normal people call crutches but we like to call them by more vulgar names because they aren't as nice as a wheel chair or MSCU or even MWU (figure it out). Whatever. Time for reality again. After parking the MSCU I was handed my crutches and out I go, leaving behind the red paradise, where for about thirty minutes, I was once again, an equal.
Sure this moment was a bit saddening, but remember, as John Milton once mentioned to me over a cup of coffee, "The mind is its own place, and in itself, can make heaven of Hell, and a hell of Heaven." I think I will make heaven of this hell.
Day 7 - Happy Anniversary to Me
I could apologize for the few days I took off from posting and for the fact that this post is a few days late (today is actually day 9), but I won't.
So I am going to enjoy the one week anniversary of my broken leg and will write up the events of day 9 (today) later on. So thanks for stopping by.
Happy 1 Week Fibula!
So I am going to enjoy the one week anniversary of my broken leg and will write up the events of day 9 (today) later on. So thanks for stopping by.
Happy 1 Week Fibula!
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Day 5 - Special Treatment for a Special Someone, me.
"You can use this one."
She said to me knowing that it would be too hard to swipe my card and walk, nay, crutch through the barricade in the alotted time one swipe would yield before closing again. I guess she didn't want to see the red seas part for me, only for the walls to come crashing back down on me as cross the middle, completely helpless. Maybe she didn't want that on her conscience, she could possibly lose her job over that. Selfish b*tch. She doesn't know what its like. My arms burn like a scorching case of herpes that Andy Dick so eloquently described in the feature film Old Skool, and she has the balls (read: ovaries) to tell me to use this one because she's afraid I may not seize the day and get through the security clearance without the pylons coming smacking back at me mid-crutch. Sure that would cause a scene, but doesn't everybody like a little entertainment? F*ck her, and f*ck her $7.55 an hour job at the front desk.
I can use this one.
Yea I can use this one, but I can also use the other one that requires a swipe of my card. I can do it. I am young and well balanced. Give me a chance I'll show you, I don't want your sympathy. I certainly won't need it later when your having multiples begging me to let you come, back over the next day.
She doesn't know this is how I feel, I coyly smile back at her and say "Thank you, you're an angel, whats your name?" She blushes, its on. Looks like I just found my valentine, if only it were this easy with two good legs.
So I use this one, the one she points out, and yes I don't need to swipe to leave.
Well that was certainly easier, maybe I should receive special treatment. I mean everybody wants to help, everybody wants to do something nice for a temporary handicap so they can go home later and feel good about themselves, look at themselves in the mirror and smile as if they made a f*cking difference in the world. What makes you so special? Why do you deserve to use me as an object of self-fulfillment? Grow up and do something real, I don't want your special love, I'll only give you the privilege if you are sincere (unlike that girl on the picnic blanket today, but much like my teammates and that blonde bombshell who has a crush on me but is playing hard to get, we'll save this story for another day).
And yes by using this one, it was easier. So she feels good both now and later, I crutch through the express lane with ease and everybody wins? Yeah, everybody is happy. Well gee, what else can I get away with by being temporarily handicap? The day is young, the possibilities are endlessly hanging in the air like a cloud of toxic smoke from a Cash4Gold test facility, and I am excited to receive the full special treatment package that a temporary handicap can receive.
I am not milking the system, I am not taking advantage of anyone. You are my friends and a friend in need is a friend indeed (not a pest like Vince Vaughn might think, but he was dealing with a stage 5). The treatment I receive in public only makes up for the struggle we temporary handicap go through when alone. Trivial tasks like preparing meals, bathing, sleeping, or dancing that you two legged people do with ease makes us wince with pain as if using coarse grain sandpaper instead of your favorite hand lotion when its me time.
So if you see a struggling handicap, be polite, be courteous, if not for yourself then do it to ease the pain. I look forward to seeing how far this can go. But remember, as Peter Parker was once told, advice he should've heeded sooner rather than later, so be sure to know that "with great power, comes great responsibility."
Happy Valentines Day, to Me.
She said to me knowing that it would be too hard to swipe my card and walk, nay, crutch through the barricade in the alotted time one swipe would yield before closing again. I guess she didn't want to see the red seas part for me, only for the walls to come crashing back down on me as cross the middle, completely helpless. Maybe she didn't want that on her conscience, she could possibly lose her job over that. Selfish b*tch. She doesn't know what its like. My arms burn like a scorching case of herpes that Andy Dick so eloquently described in the feature film Old Skool, and she has the balls (read: ovaries) to tell me to use this one because she's afraid I may not seize the day and get through the security clearance without the pylons coming smacking back at me mid-crutch. Sure that would cause a scene, but doesn't everybody like a little entertainment? F*ck her, and f*ck her $7.55 an hour job at the front desk.
I can use this one.
Yea I can use this one, but I can also use the other one that requires a swipe of my card. I can do it. I am young and well balanced. Give me a chance I'll show you, I don't want your sympathy. I certainly won't need it later when your having multiples begging me to let you come, back over the next day.
She doesn't know this is how I feel, I coyly smile back at her and say "Thank you, you're an angel, whats your name?" She blushes, its on. Looks like I just found my valentine, if only it were this easy with two good legs.
So I use this one, the one she points out, and yes I don't need to swipe to leave.
Well that was certainly easier, maybe I should receive special treatment. I mean everybody wants to help, everybody wants to do something nice for a temporary handicap so they can go home later and feel good about themselves, look at themselves in the mirror and smile as if they made a f*cking difference in the world. What makes you so special? Why do you deserve to use me as an object of self-fulfillment? Grow up and do something real, I don't want your special love, I'll only give you the privilege if you are sincere (unlike that girl on the picnic blanket today, but much like my teammates and that blonde bombshell who has a crush on me but is playing hard to get, we'll save this story for another day).
And yes by using this one, it was easier. So she feels good both now and later, I crutch through the express lane with ease and everybody wins? Yeah, everybody is happy. Well gee, what else can I get away with by being temporarily handicap? The day is young, the possibilities are endlessly hanging in the air like a cloud of toxic smoke from a Cash4Gold test facility, and I am excited to receive the full special treatment package that a temporary handicap can receive.
I am not milking the system, I am not taking advantage of anyone. You are my friends and a friend in need is a friend indeed (not a pest like Vince Vaughn might think, but he was dealing with a stage 5). The treatment I receive in public only makes up for the struggle we temporary handicap go through when alone. Trivial tasks like preparing meals, bathing, sleeping, or dancing that you two legged people do with ease makes us wince with pain as if using coarse grain sandpaper instead of your favorite hand lotion when its me time.
So if you see a struggling handicap, be polite, be courteous, if not for yourself then do it to ease the pain. I look forward to seeing how far this can go. But remember, as Peter Parker was once told, advice he should've heeded sooner rather than later, so be sure to know that "with great power, comes great responsibility."
Happy Valentines Day, to Me.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Day 4 - I'ma Show You How to Get Your Shine On
I woke this morning and almost forgot my right foot was trapped, nay, protected by a plastic boot. That all too familiar feeling of a full stomach from late night eats and a dehydrated mouth from too much alcohol. My eyes were in a bit of a daze, but I did remember to take my contacts out so it wasn't too bad.
After going out drinking so many nights you begin to fall into a pattern or establish a hangover routine. This routine would have to change along with the rest of my life. It wasn't pleasant but I managed to get through it, however I almost regretted what I did last night..... almost.
Let's just say I will be getting my shine on again tonight. Right now the night is young, there is music in the air, and I got nothing but a can-do attitude as the possibilities of the evening swirl about my head like a tornado ripping through the alley. Who says crips can't have fun? Remember, we are, special.
Before I forget, I'd like to thank the donor who was a kind, two legged angel that saw fit to help out the less fortunate with a rather generous donation.
Today was a good day. I was a little nervous about my first day of classes with the 'business kids.' But aside from getting to my first class late (I told you, I got my shine on last night) and having my teacher go on a five minute rant about how he once broke his arm, it was much like my experience on Thursday with the quad people. No girls called me baby today but I could see it in their eyes, they all wanted something from the temporary handicap, they all wanted to step in my world, and more noticeably they all wanted a ride on the special bus.
With Valentine's day around the corner I can only say this to the girl readers of this blog, step it up. Believe it or not a lot of people want a guy in a plastic boot, especially a good looking, ambitious, sure of himself, go-getter, life of the party type of guy like myself. I give you tonight to show me your good side and just remember I don't want to deal with your little power struggle games when I need you to come over and help cook me dinner, I'm not having it. But believe me when I say after Saturday (if you are the lucky one) I will be the one having to say "Not now baby, I'm tired" or "Sweetie, I'm just not in the mood." I'm excited for tonight and a little nervous about how I will travel . I'm like 98% excited and 2% scared, or maybe 98% scared and 2% excited but that's what makes it so intense. So I'm just going to do what I did all freshmen year. I am going to let go, get my shine on, and see where the night takes me, I'll see you out there and remember - hold the f*cking door open!
Given the above paragraph, I'll leave this quote for you ladies. A girl friend of mine once asked me, "Coach JR, how do I find a real man like you?" and I replied with the only truthful answer I could give here "You don't find him honey. A real man, finds you."
After going out drinking so many nights you begin to fall into a pattern or establish a hangover routine. This routine would have to change along with the rest of my life. It wasn't pleasant but I managed to get through it, however I almost regretted what I did last night..... almost.
Let's just say I will be getting my shine on again tonight. Right now the night is young, there is music in the air, and I got nothing but a can-do attitude as the possibilities of the evening swirl about my head like a tornado ripping through the alley. Who says crips can't have fun? Remember, we are, special.
Before I forget, I'd like to thank the donor who was a kind, two legged angel that saw fit to help out the less fortunate with a rather generous donation.
Today was a good day. I was a little nervous about my first day of classes with the 'business kids.' But aside from getting to my first class late (I told you, I got my shine on last night) and having my teacher go on a five minute rant about how he once broke his arm, it was much like my experience on Thursday with the quad people. No girls called me baby today but I could see it in their eyes, they all wanted something from the temporary handicap, they all wanted to step in my world, and more noticeably they all wanted a ride on the special bus.
With Valentine's day around the corner I can only say this to the girl readers of this blog, step it up. Believe it or not a lot of people want a guy in a plastic boot, especially a good looking, ambitious, sure of himself, go-getter, life of the party type of guy like myself. I give you tonight to show me your good side and just remember I don't want to deal with your little power struggle games when I need you to come over and help cook me dinner, I'm not having it. But believe me when I say after Saturday (if you are the lucky one) I will be the one having to say "Not now baby, I'm tired" or "Sweetie, I'm just not in the mood." I'm excited for tonight and a little nervous about how I will travel . I'm like 98% excited and 2% scared, or maybe 98% scared and 2% excited but that's what makes it so intense. So I'm just going to do what I did all freshmen year. I am going to let go, get my shine on, and see where the night takes me, I'll see you out there and remember - hold the f*cking door open!
Given the above paragraph, I'll leave this quote for you ladies. A girl friend of mine once asked me, "Coach JR, how do I find a real man like you?" and I replied with the only truthful answer I could give here "You don't find him honey. A real man, finds you."
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Day 3 - Sometimes you want to go, where everybody knows your name
Its like being the elephant in the living room.
Riding the special bus in the morning was a bit intimidating at first. But with the support of a nice friend and a warm smile by the bus driver I began to feel at home and comfortable. The bus was rather nice I may add.
When you are temporarily handicap you need to re-arrange most of your daily activities in a way that's more efficient and easier for your handicap. As soon as the bus rode away I found myself having to plot out my walking paths or should I say crutching paths.
It was nice for a change to have women and girls hold the doors open for me as I walk. And much to my surprise the mother instinct is evident in about all women to some degree. Guys, they don't really care and why should they, but the girls- well lets just say everyone loves a temporary handicap.
This realization was important because it helped me understand why my male friends were acting the way they were. It was simple jealousy. Phrases like "You're not even that handicap," or "you're injury isn't even that bad," stung me like 500 yellow jackets in the same spot with vinegar raining down on the wound. Ignorant morons. Actually I take that back, with a smile, instead I truly feel bad for those that felt that way last night. I guess I wasn't kidding when I said that being a handicap lets you see people's true colors.
Outside of this love palace I call an apartment (minus the few bad apples that need counseling or psychiatric help) it was nice to know that the majority of strangers seem to empathize and often (it seemed today) want to have carnal knowledge of a temporary disabled man. This all left me feeling to good and with a honest belief that these eight weeks were going to be just fine, how could this day possibly get any better?
The bus ride home.
I wasn't expecting to meet any others with a condition similar to mine, but I did! Turns out there are a lot of other just like me. There was something comforting riding in a bus where everyone else had crutches. Conversation was flowing like we were all best buds who haven't seen each other for over a year. The ease of conversation and the number of things we had to say, simply blew my mind. Even the bus driver joined in to chat about college basketball and rugby. There exists a special bond between riders of the special bus. I am not sure what it is or if anyone really understands it, but we all know it exists. Maybe its the comfort we seek in each other, maybe its the deep understanding we all have for one another's suffering that two legged folk don't seem to get, or maybe its the fact that on our special bus, we are all, equal.
To those people who aren't as in touch with themselves and have trouble expressing their emotions properly. Or are simply to ignorant to think before speaking, I forgive you. I forgive you for your shortcomings and for not being able to accept my injury. I'll leave you with this:
A wise man by the name of Josh McDowell once told me that "forgiveness is the oil of a relationship." And as my dear friend Leo Nikolaevich Tolstoy, the great Russian thinker once said, "let us forgive each other- only then shall we live in peace."
Riding the special bus in the morning was a bit intimidating at first. But with the support of a nice friend and a warm smile by the bus driver I began to feel at home and comfortable. The bus was rather nice I may add.
When you are temporarily handicap you need to re-arrange most of your daily activities in a way that's more efficient and easier for your handicap. As soon as the bus rode away I found myself having to plot out my walking paths or should I say crutching paths.
It was nice for a change to have women and girls hold the doors open for me as I walk. And much to my surprise the mother instinct is evident in about all women to some degree. Guys, they don't really care and why should they, but the girls- well lets just say everyone loves a temporary handicap.
This realization was important because it helped me understand why my male friends were acting the way they were. It was simple jealousy. Phrases like "You're not even that handicap," or "you're injury isn't even that bad," stung me like 500 yellow jackets in the same spot with vinegar raining down on the wound. Ignorant morons. Actually I take that back, with a smile, instead I truly feel bad for those that felt that way last night. I guess I wasn't kidding when I said that being a handicap lets you see people's true colors.
Outside of this love palace I call an apartment (minus the few bad apples that need counseling or psychiatric help) it was nice to know that the majority of strangers seem to empathize and often (it seemed today) want to have carnal knowledge of a temporary disabled man. This all left me feeling to good and with a honest belief that these eight weeks were going to be just fine, how could this day possibly get any better?
The bus ride home.
I wasn't expecting to meet any others with a condition similar to mine, but I did! Turns out there are a lot of other just like me. There was something comforting riding in a bus where everyone else had crutches. Conversation was flowing like we were all best buds who haven't seen each other for over a year. The ease of conversation and the number of things we had to say, simply blew my mind. Even the bus driver joined in to chat about college basketball and rugby. There exists a special bond between riders of the special bus. I am not sure what it is or if anyone really understands it, but we all know it exists. Maybe its the comfort we seek in each other, maybe its the deep understanding we all have for one another's suffering that two legged folk don't seem to get, or maybe its the fact that on our special bus, we are all, equal.
To those people who aren't as in touch with themselves and have trouble expressing their emotions properly. Or are simply to ignorant to think before speaking, I forgive you. I forgive you for your shortcomings and for not being able to accept my injury. I'll leave you with this:
A wise man by the name of Josh McDowell once told me that "forgiveness is the oil of a relationship." And as my dear friend Leo Nikolaevich Tolstoy, the great Russian thinker once said, "let us forgive each other- only then shall we live in peace."
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Day 2 - Woe is Me
"Eight weeks."
That's all he said to me.
"Eight weeks."
The rest of the spoken words in the room were between him and his tape recorder.
"Eight weeks."
As if I was an object being shipped back to the warehouse for repair.
"Eight weeks."
No, maybe sooner if you heal quick, no, we'll see how you are doing in a little bit, no nothing. Just those two words I didn't want to hear. He spoke those two words and it felt like being slapped in the face with a giant, double sided dildo, made for the greek gods.
"Eight weeks."
That cold hearted prick, no explanation, no details, no nothing. Just a touch of the foot and two words. Then my appointment was done. Unfortunately I will have to go back to see him again in one week.
On the way home I tried to feel sorry for myself. And I guess with the reality of being in this boot for 8 weeks setting in, I actually was sorry for myself. Yes I was upset about not playing anymore rugby for the year, not being able to lift or go to yoga class, not being able to salsa dance, not being able to go on spontaneous adventures with the S.A.C., but pissing and moaning and whining and crying about that will only get me so far. So for the record yes I was disappointed, yes I did want to cry, but John Rambo only cries at the end of movies... not in the middle.
So fck it, there is no time to sit around and feel sorry for ones' self. Its a waste of time and energy that could be better spent elsewhere. I for one need to do my hair and gussy myself up a little bit for speed dating this evening. I mean I still have one good leg for these 8 weeks, and if Lance Armstrong can win 8 Tour de Frances with one testacle, I think I will be ok with one leg, for 8 weeks.
I believe it was Stewie Griffin who once said, "Remeber, whether you think you can or you can't, you're right. See you tomorrow."
Here are some things I need to be done for me today:
- laundry still (wash, dry, fold - willing to do 1 of these myself now)
- drop off some perscriptions for me (i'll tell jokes the whole time in the car)
- mail my letter to the DMV so I can get my handicap pass
- take me to the health center on campus so I can get a temporary pass while waiting for the one from the DMV
That's all he said to me.
"Eight weeks."
The rest of the spoken words in the room were between him and his tape recorder.
"Eight weeks."
As if I was an object being shipped back to the warehouse for repair.
"Eight weeks."
No, maybe sooner if you heal quick, no, we'll see how you are doing in a little bit, no nothing. Just those two words I didn't want to hear. He spoke those two words and it felt like being slapped in the face with a giant, double sided dildo, made for the greek gods.
"Eight weeks."
That cold hearted prick, no explanation, no details, no nothing. Just a touch of the foot and two words. Then my appointment was done. Unfortunately I will have to go back to see him again in one week.
On the way home I tried to feel sorry for myself. And I guess with the reality of being in this boot for 8 weeks setting in, I actually was sorry for myself. Yes I was upset about not playing anymore rugby for the year, not being able to lift or go to yoga class, not being able to salsa dance, not being able to go on spontaneous adventures with the S.A.C., but pissing and moaning and whining and crying about that will only get me so far. So for the record yes I was disappointed, yes I did want to cry, but John Rambo only cries at the end of movies... not in the middle.
So fck it, there is no time to sit around and feel sorry for ones' self. Its a waste of time and energy that could be better spent elsewhere. I for one need to do my hair and gussy myself up a little bit for speed dating this evening. I mean I still have one good leg for these 8 weeks, and if Lance Armstrong can win 8 Tour de Frances with one testacle, I think I will be ok with one leg, for 8 weeks.
I believe it was Stewie Griffin who once said, "Remeber, whether you think you can or you can't, you're right. See you tomorrow."
Here are some things I need to be done for me today:
- laundry still (wash, dry, fold - willing to do 1 of these myself now)
- drop off some perscriptions for me (i'll tell jokes the whole time in the car)
- mail my letter to the DMV so I can get my handicap pass
- take me to the health center on campus so I can get a temporary pass while waiting for the one from the DMV
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Day 1 - Acceptance
After a gay ole night in the company of some of my closest friends with nothing but harmonica songs and rugby on the telly I awake alone, in my bed, with my foot still in a boot. It seems that what appeared to be a dream last night is actually, reality. As I struggle to perform daily activities I realize that this isn't going to be a quick path to two healthy legs again. I begin to understand I will need to learn a few things, change some behaviors, and make adjustments to get by with only one functional part of my base.
The first step a recovering alcoholic must take on the road to a drug free life is admitting that he/she has a problem. I must do the same. I must be brutally honest with myself.
My ankle is broken. I am in a boot. I can't not change this, I, I must accept it.
Now it is time to move forward with my life. Through the strength and support of my family and friends I can get through this. My goal is to recover in four weeks so I can still scuba dive this spring break. I know this is ambitious but if you are my friend at school, reading this, ask yourself: not what can JR do for me? but what can I do to help JR?!
I'll tell you what you could do to help JR, just call about 5 minutes ahead of time so I know to be dressed but here is a list of some things that I would certainly do for you (my friends) if you were confined to crutches and a wheel chair for 6-8 weeks:
- my laundry (wash, dry and fold - must do all 3)
- fill the Brita pitcher with water
- buy me 2 gallons of Skim Milk (food lion brand is OK!!)
- wash my back tonight when I take a bath
- drive me to the doctor's tomorrow for my 10:50am appointment and take me back home
- call me just to let me know you're thinking about me and wish me a speedy recovery
Now that I have accepted my injury, you may be wondering, how will I live?
In the wise words of the real JR, "day by day."
The first step a recovering alcoholic must take on the road to a drug free life is admitting that he/she has a problem. I must do the same. I must be brutally honest with myself.
My ankle is broken. I am in a boot. I can't not change this, I, I must accept it.
Now it is time to move forward with my life. Through the strength and support of my family and friends I can get through this. My goal is to recover in four weeks so I can still scuba dive this spring break. I know this is ambitious but if you are my friend at school, reading this, ask yourself: not what can JR do for me? but what can I do to help JR?!
I'll tell you what you could do to help JR, just call about 5 minutes ahead of time so I know to be dressed but here is a list of some things that I would certainly do for you (my friends) if you were confined to crutches and a wheel chair for 6-8 weeks:
- my laundry (wash, dry and fold - must do all 3)
- fill the Brita pitcher with water
- buy me 2 gallons of Skim Milk (food lion brand is OK!!)
- wash my back tonight when I take a bath
- drive me to the doctor's tomorrow for my 10:50am appointment and take me back home
- call me just to let me know you're thinking about me and wish me a speedy recovery
Now that I have accepted my injury, you may be wondering, how will I live?
In the wise words of the real JR, "day by day."
Day 0 - Snap, Crackle, Pop
No one really knows why certain things happen. The only thing we can all do as human beings is accept it for what it is and move forward with a smile. I didn't ask for this broken ankle. But it never the less happened and there isn't much that I can do to change that for the time being.
I've never been through such an experience, but although I was new to a broken bone my body told me instantly what happened. After four of my teammates gracefully landed on top of each other, myself included, my ankle/ fibula bone caught the wrong end of about 600lbs of pure mass. 600lbs is a rough estimate but I fancy myself to be quite the milk drinker so with the strength of my bones (due to the high intake of calcium) I am not really surprised at the amount of weight required to cause the break.
I'd like to thank the two brave men that helped me walk off the field after the injury occured. And I'd also like to thank those few who stuck behind to aid me in getting back to my apartment. Finally I'd like to thank the man, a true dear friend, who dropped me off at the hospital and then after 3 hrs of being in the hospital came to pick me up only about 15minutes late from when I called for a ride home (sarcasm - i do sincerely appreciate the help). Thank you to all, it's people like you guys that make this world a wonderful place.
I believe the cowboys have a saying that goes something like this: "Sometimes a 'cowboy' will fall off his horse. Some will be too scared to get back on, but a real cowboy saddles right back on up and keeps riding."
I hope in time, I too shall be able to saddle on up.
I've never been through such an experience, but although I was new to a broken bone my body told me instantly what happened. After four of my teammates gracefully landed on top of each other, myself included, my ankle/ fibula bone caught the wrong end of about 600lbs of pure mass. 600lbs is a rough estimate but I fancy myself to be quite the milk drinker so with the strength of my bones (due to the high intake of calcium) I am not really surprised at the amount of weight required to cause the break.
I'd like to thank the two brave men that helped me walk off the field after the injury occured. And I'd also like to thank those few who stuck behind to aid me in getting back to my apartment. Finally I'd like to thank the man, a true dear friend, who dropped me off at the hospital and then after 3 hrs of being in the hospital came to pick me up only about 15minutes late from when I called for a ride home (sarcasm - i do sincerely appreciate the help). Thank you to all, it's people like you guys that make this world a wonderful place.
I believe the cowboys have a saying that goes something like this: "Sometimes a 'cowboy' will fall off his horse. Some will be too scared to get back on, but a real cowboy saddles right back on up and keeps riding."
I hope in time, I too shall be able to saddle on up.
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