Late in September, we had the dedication of the new track and field where I coach. As a coach, and a donor to the field, I wanted to be there and so I went. It was a lovely service that preceded the dedication. Then we had to hike to the field for it's official dedication. I should mention that the school where I coach is located on a "mountain" - any of the fields or facilities are down the hill from the main campus. With my cane in hand and air cast on, I limped my way down to the field. By the time I got to the entrance of the field, all the other coaches were on the field, so I stood at the end zone and watched, aching ankle and all. After the dedication, I limped back up the hill to my car and drove home.
By the time I got home, my ankle was very swollen and painful. I propped it up on the couch with an ice pack over it and popped some OTC anti-inflamatories. By two hours later, when it was no better, I decided I had had enough. I was off to the ER and I wasn't going to leave until they put a cast on it.
This was actually easier said than done. The ER docs were quite agreeable to all my wishes - but they couldn't help me out. Only an orthopedist could "officially" cast me. I told them to call one.
Apparently, I interrupted his football watching on TV - because the little twerp that came as the Orthopedist was rude from the first sound out of his mouth. I explained my whole history to him, the various visits, the determination that I had a grade three sprain, the fact that I still had pain and swelling and that the air cast was not doing a thing to immobilize the ankle and give it a chance to heal - I wanted him to either break the ankle or put a cast on it.
He tried to talk me out of it and I wouldn't have it. He turned away from me mumbling under his breath and I called him on it. He said he wasn't and I told him I wasn't senile and he was being rude. If he couldn't attend to me properly, I would be in touch with his supervisor in the morning. He went to get the casting materials. The ER nurse and resident smiled at me and gave me a "thumbs up".
So, Dr. Twerp came back with the materials to cast me and at that point - he did get even with me. He made the cast high (almost to my knee) and built up the sole of it so that it was impossible to even gently stand on it. The tips of my toes barely peeked out at the bottom (and I have big feet). He made a big mess while he put the cast on (I think he probably hadn't done a cast since med school) and sent me on my way.
I spent three weeks in the cast - and that was three weeks that included marching band competitions and football games! My crutches got an excellent work out and so did I. Going up and down the stairs at home, I would sit down on the step and haul myself up step-by-step or slide on my behind coming down. I worked out arm muscles and quadriceps galore. I made it fun - well, as fun as you can be with a cast on your leg.
Mid-October I was back at the clinic and they removed the cast and FINALLY fit me for the lovely orthopedic boot. With immobilization for three weeks, my calf had pretty much whithered into nothingness - so I was determined to build it back up to where it had beed.
Finishing up marching season with the orthopedic boot was not that bad. The ankle had its good and bad days - but at least I could move.
The clinic docs told me when they removed the cast, that ankle sprains can take months to heal and I just needed to keep plugging along and push through the pain as I strengthened it.
Through cheer season and winterguard season, I did just that. I plugged along and pushed. The ankle would swell and ache, and I would raise it, ice it or put warm compresses on and take anti-inflamatories.
Deep in my heart, I knew this could not be how I was meant to live though.
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