The 411

Or should I say 911, as that is what I probably should have called…  for those inquiring minds that actually care about how/why I did this whole ATR thing here’s the story.

It starts, and ends, with a guy named Randy.  Randy is our farm manager, resident fly fishing expert and all around gadfly about town.  He also has a city league basketball league with his 2 sons and their friends.  Once he learned that I played in high school a million years ago, well I just had to come play with him and his boys.

The cajoling, name-calling, and general convincing took a year, and I probably shouldda kept playing hard to get!  But no, I fell for his line like a drunk sorority girl at her first frat party.

Fast forward to my first game with the team.  I’ve been in less than 10 minutes when BAM!  Followed shortly thereafter by a series of words that were probably illegal in most civilized nations.  My wife likened it to a tree being felled by loggers.  I was striding forward and just as my heel came off the ground in my stride, a fellow from the other team, running behind me, stepped on the back of the heel.  My stride pulled up.  His foot pushed down.  Immovable object.  Unstoppable force.  #$!#$, )^^%$ and double @$#@%.  I was well and truly down.

Fast forward again.  It is 2.5 weeks post injury.  2.5 weeks post mis-diagnosis.  Oh yeah.  After an unneeded x-ray (I told them it was soft tissue), I was sent home from the emergency room with a diagnosis of a minor muscle pull.  A bit of ice and get back on it in a day or so.  After walking on it for 2+ weeks, with increasing numbness and pain, the doc sent me in for an MRI.

Bingo.  There it was.  Even I could see it.  Of course, you all know that I didn’t need an MRI if someone would have spent 30 seconds and actually touched my f%^$&ing leg!!!

I mentioned that I live in the sticks right?  Even my family doc said, “if you’re young, athletic and want to make certain this is done right, don’t do it around here.”  So, off to the internet and insurance company website to find out where to go.

Up to the Bay Area to Dr. Richard Coughlin of UCSF and in for surgery 2 days later.

So, the moral of the story… don’t let your farm manager convince you to do anything!  Its all his fault.  Really.  It is.

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