David Friedli

By the Dashboard Lights

03/22/07 Injured Reserve

One of the reasons I had for not playing college athletics was the good fortune I had in staying nearly injury-free during four years of high school.

Of course, the major reason for not pursuing that level of competition was the very average athletic skills I possessed. But I rationalized I was lucky not to have blown out a knee or shoulder and would thank myself when I was older for being able to walk or comb my hair (assuming I still had some) without pain.

Still, with the exception of dislocated and broken pinky fingers (a little bit of tape solves that) and cauliflower ear during wrestling (cover it with headgear), I avoided serious injury.

I did suffer a broken fibula in my left leg my senior year of football which happened when two opposing players conspired to ‘cheap shot’ me on a high-low block.

However, since the fibula is the non-weight supporting bone of the lower leg, and Coach Stutzman convinced me it was only a deep bone bruise that a treatment regimine of five-minute alternating soaking of my leg between a bucket of ice-cold water and 110-degree whirlpool.

Treatment didn’t really take the pain away, but when the 50-minute torture session was over (simply try putting your hand in ice water for a minute and then stick it in hot water and see what it feels like), I was able to tolerate the dull ache when moving and the excruciating pain when it was hit.

Perhaps I’m still desensitized to the pain.

For the past two weeks, ever since I slipped on a patch of ice on my way home from the grocery store, I’ve been limping.

I jammed my kneecap into the cement and in an instant I knew I was not just hurt. I was injured.

My forty-yard time from the spot of the fall to home was about a 4.9—minutes, not seconds.

When I reached home, my knee was twice its normal size and the swelling prevented any significant range of motion.

Ice, limited activity and over-the-counter pain medication were my self-prescribed treatment. For the first week, my limp was significant.

By day seven, most of the swelling was gone and I walked—slowly—with little pain.

On day ten getting out of a chair still required favoring my good leg but I could tell I was on the mend, and fortunately my self-diagnosis seemed accurate and appropriate.

I won’t be running the ‘forty’ any time soon, but for now I’m happy to be walking relatively pain-free.