Well, dear friends, the time has come to tell the tale. The tale of how I made fishing a contact sport. I’d like to regale you with my colorful adventure complete with pictures, but the place in which the event occurred is one that I have never ventured to since that fateful October Saturday in 2000. I might be able to drive by and snap a quick pic if I can keep my hands from shaking…

Or not. Probably not. Even if I do drive by it every day. Every stinking day.

The morning started out fabulously, as most mornings before a traumatic event often do. Mike had gone up the Kern River Canyon with a friend a couple of hours ahead of me. After sending the kids off with my mom I hopped in my blue Jeep Cherokee (I had only had it a year and was still madly in love with it, even if it was used with a gazillion miles on it) and started the drive up the canyon to meet Mike and our friend, Fed (no, not Kevin Federline… it’s Eric Federhoff and he’s WAY cooler than Britney’s gigilo will ever dream of being).

I was wearing my favorite pair of jeans, these jeans had been washed a gazillion times and were buttery soft and beginning to fade in a really awesome way. I was blaring something on the radio (I cannot recall what) and zipping up the canyon, it was a bright, clear autumn day and the weather was gorgeous.

I tell you all of this to impress upon you that just that morning I had been climbing over some leg breaking terrain near a river that is famous for white water rafting, Olympic kayakers (is that a term?) train here. We fished for a couple of hours (with no luck whatsoever) and then decided to head down to a local lake that is about a 5 minute drive from our house.

The water at the lake was smooth as glass, no one else was around and we quickly found the perfect bank under some trees to fish. Within a few casts I caught a small fish and tossed it back. It could not have been a more perfect fishing trip…

Until my next cast. My feet slipped out from under me and I slid down the bank (slid… about 2 feet) into the water. I remember thinking that something did not feel right as I looked at my legs sitting in the water. My left foot sat normally while my right foot hung to the right, limp and completely sideways. About that time the most excruciating pain I’ve ever experienced aside from natural childbirth set in. In short, what should have been a “ha ha” clumsy incident that you see on “America’s Funniest Home Videos” turned into a freak accident from hell.

Mike ran over to me certain that I had sprained my ankle and broken the fishing pole because he heard the “fishing pole” break as I fell. He quickly discovered that the fishing pole was intact, in near-perfect condition. It was my ankle and leg that he heard break as I fell.

Shuddering yet? I am just remembering it.

They dragged me out of the water, where I silently began willing my right foot to move… and it just wouldn’t.

Fifteen minutes later I was in the emergency room on a gurney while Mike sat out front filling out paperwork. I believe I was going in to shock at that point because I couldn’t stop crying. Not sobbing… just uncontrollable tears running down my face. It was very strange.

Even more strange was a small doctor, the asian version of Dr. Ruth, who came up to me to check on me. She had recognized me… she was my childhood pediatrician and was now Ethan, Kate (and eventually Maggie’s) pediatrician. She said (in her very thick accent), “Oh yes, that’s broken… I’m so sorry, you’ll be ok, they take very good care of you here.”

I began to fear that somehow my life was flashing before my eyes in a very real way.

Eventually they got me into a room and started giving me morphine. Morphine! They said that they were going to have to do a “reduction” on my leg and I had a distinct feeling that it didn’t mean using an ice pack to reduce the swelling.

Me: Uh, Mike, they are going to twist my foot back into place.

Mike: No, no way. They wouldn’t do that.

Me: I’m telling you… I’ve heard of this kind of thing. This is not going to be good.

Mike: No, don’t be silly. You’ll be fine.

Me: Uh-huh.

Sure enough a nurse and two very large guys came into the room. They mentioned that I looked “too alert” and that I should probably have more morphine. There went another injection… although I think at that point I had an IV. But, now I don’t remember for sure. Within minutes the room started to swim just a bit. The two guys proceeded to twist my foot back into place. It was the most surreal stretching feeling I had ever experienced. It’s not that it hurt… it just felt, unnatural.

Finally, assuming my best MOM voice I said, “Ok, that’s enough, you two are done now!!!” Oddly enough, this is something I have to say to Ethan and Katie at least twice a day, so I’m pretty good at asserting a tone of authority.

Apparently the two guys had a flashback to their own childhoods because they both stopped and jumped back as if they had been caught doing something very naughty. Fortunately for all of us, my foot was nearly back in place so they decided it could wait for… SURGERY.

Bastards.

Damn fish, damn lake, damn hospitals, damn x-rays, DAMN DOCTORS!!!!

Oh, and the oh-so-wonderful, awesomely faded, buttery-soft, favorite jeans?

They CUT them OFF me…

I begged, I tried to convince them that I would gladly risk injuring my leg more if we all just worked together to slide them off… but no… they cut my freaking favorite jeans off.

I’ve never had another pair that wonderful. I’m still not happy with my husband for not sticking up for me and helping me get my damn jeans off before the nurse whipped out the scissors.

This little adventure was nothing compared to the surgery and recovery that followed. Recalling all of this now I am keenly aware of the tragic comedy my life has become at times. But, that’s a post for another time because this post has become far… too… long.

Related Tags: fishing, accidents, lakes, broken bones, ankle, contact sports, jeans, emergency rooms, doctors, nurses

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