Tales from Brokebutt Mountain
Or, a derby girl’s journey with injury...
We all have them, or will have them: old war wounds that come back to bite us in the . . . you know. For some, it’s an old knee injury. For others, it’s a sprained ankle that won’t quit. It may be something that happened to your shins, foot, wrist, or even elbow. Me? I broke my tush.
Two falls in, and months of false security later, and the pain is back with a vengeance. The doctors have advised me not to skate for now, so I’m sitting on the sidelines with a broken heart and a new nickname— Brokebutt Mountain.
After several doctors’ visits and many tests, my fanny has seen more action than, well, ever. It has been poked and prodded, massaged and examined. As far as I’m concerned, I could go the rest of my life without such focused attention to my hindquarters.
Meanwhile, the doctors still are not sure what’s wrong. Technicians have done two sets of x-rays, two MRIs, and a bone scan of the area. Does anyone else have a special examination-day set of undies? Because Brokebutt does.
When I called to set up the bone scan, I was surprised to learn that the test would take four to five hours. “Well,” the helpful woman on the phone informed me, “after they inject the radioactive isotopes into you, we have to wait a few hours for them to seep into your bones.”
“Wait, wait, wait, wait, WAIT. WHAT?”
“Is there a problem with that?”
You want to stick a needle in me and marinade me in radioactive isotopes?
What about this doesn’t sound like a problem?
A week later, I sat down with a spinal specialist to review all my tests. Nothing, in all of the pictures, explains the pain in my posterior. “How would you feel about having a CT scan?” the specialist asks.
“Really? You already have a pretty comprehensive view of my bum, don’t you?”
At this point, there are so many pictures of my derrière, it’s famous. I’ll have to work on my autograph. Wishing you all the best, love from Brokebutt Mountain.
Now there’s a new plan. Dope up on anti-inflammatories. Start swimming and ease back into exercise. See if time and patience can wear away the pain, like a river smoothing down a rock. Meanwhile, I see my skating peers improving their game, knowing that my skills are gathering cobwebs. I was just gaining steam, making headway on my journey to teach my mind and body how to play the game. I wonder if I’m not only interrupting that journey, but setting myself back.
Brokebutt needs to get her groove back.
For now, I’ll focus on the things I can control like getting back to the gym; acquainting my body with exercise again. And taking pleasure in the accomplishments of those friends of mine. They’ll be there when I get back on skates. Derby love always waits.