Shots Across The Bow

Class three sprain with tearing of the Anterior talo-fibular ligament

That's me.

I was playing 2-hand touch football with my kids and the rest of my family a week ago Sunday. Now, for some reason, even though I'm built like a defensive lineman, I always end up playing receiver in these games. After making a spectacular over-the-shoulder catch for a first down, I stepped into a hole and twisted my ankle. I heard a crunch and a couple of pops as I rolled on the ground in agony, but true to my lineman nature, I jumped right up and limped back into the huddle. I worked my ankle for about thirty seconds, and the pain went away and I was able to run again. (Well, as well as an out of shape 40 year old man can run anyway.) We ended the game about 90 minutes later, and I went home with my kids to make dinner.

About 30 minutes later, the adrenaline and the endorphins wore off (wonderful things those endorphins) and I began to realize that I may have made a boo-boo. I've dealt with sprains before, so I iced my ankle, and put a compression wrap on it, and figured it would heal in a couple of days.

But that would make for a short column, now wouldn't it?

The instability went away after about 4 days, and most of the swelling went as well, except for around the top of my ankle. A week later, I was still limpng around, and it wasn't getting any better. It would loosen up after walking for a few minutes, but as soon as I stopped, it would stiffen right back up again.

So, I went to see an orthopedist, who followed a ritual that must have been invented by the first doctor back in caveman days.

He asked me where it hurt. I told him.

He promptly grabbed the hurting area and began poking at it.

I said "Ow."

He said, "Does that hurt?"

Four years of college, four more of med school, not to mention who knows how many years of internship and residency, and that's the best he can do? Poke where I told him it hurts, then ask me if it hurts? I already told him where it hurt! What, did he think I was lying?

I broke an ankle once, while I was in the Navy. I was evacuating a compartment during a drill when I slipped on some water and my foot crashed into a bulkhead. (That's a wall for you land lubber types.)

I knew I broke it because when I hit the bulkhead, I felt a lancing pain shoot up from the ankle to about mid calf. I kept my balnce and made it to the passageway, but I knew I'd messed up my ankle pretty seriously. I went to medical that night and the on-duty corpsman (that's the guy who, after about a year of training, fills in for a real doctor) evaluated the ankle by grasping it firmly in both hands, then twisting it as far as it would go in all directions.

At this point the only parts of me touching the exam table were my other foot and the back of my head as I arched up in agony.

I said, "Ow!"

Actually, being a sailor at the time, I said a lot of other things that really don't bear repeating, but in essence, they added up to "Ow."

The corpsman asked, "Does that hurt?"

He diagnosed it as a mild sprain and told me to come back in the morning. After a night of pain, I went back to sick call, where they x-rayed the ankle and informed me that, yes indeed, it was broken.

Anyway, back to now. The doctor pressed firmly on the areas that hurt the most, either searching for a ligament or trying to force me to admit to the murder of Jimmy Hoffa. I was about to confess too, when he finished the exam and informed me that I had a Class III sprain and a torn anterior talo-fibular ligament.

"A season ending injury," is how he put it.

So, I'm in a splint for 6 weeks while my 40 year old body tries to teach my 18 year old mind who it is that's really in charge. Teenagers are known for their stubborness; I'll play again!

Posted by Rich at October 24, 2003 10:34 AM | TrackBack