While playing AFL footy on a delightfully smoggy Sunday here in Beijing, I pivoted about 180° to hare off after a loose kick (how I could see the ball through all the dense coal particles is another matter). After pivoting, I tried an explosive start and immediately heard the telltale “pop” of the achilles tendon rupturing. It really did sound like a gun and felt like someone kicking me in the heel, and despite my efforts to continue after the ball I collapsed in a very unfashionable heap near where the injury occurred.
Peeved at this perceived lowly act of un-sportsmanlike behaviour from my mysterious assailant (natural instinct when you grow up in the land of the convicts), I started yelling at my teammates (now 10 m away from my prone figure) asking after which *&#% had kicked me in the leg and kept going. Later descriptions of my state likened me to a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle who had been knocked onto it’s shell and, furious at its inability to get up, started venting its frustration on fellow Ninja Turtles. By this stage our illustrious Captain had realised my predicament, and helped me to the side of the field.
With the entire team gathered around and still hungover from Saturday night’s nocturnal activities, there was no shortage of expert diagnoses on the nature and extent of the injury. “Perhaps it’s a twisted ankle?” was popular, “How about remote paralysis?” another frightening contribution. Perhaps of most concern was “syphillus of the ankle?”…..not what you want to hear at that point, possible or otherwise…
After being taped up by our team “physio” (the Orthopod later likened it to the work of a 3-year-old) and stretchered to a waiting Beijing taxi on the back of a pushbike (another hilarious picture, pity there were no cameras), it was an immediate trip to the Hospital Emergency Room.
Given the reputation of medical services in China, I was not hopeful of a “positive patient experience” but was pleased to see a smiling Canadian Physician as soon as we entered the ER. My smile (and his) wore off quickly, however, when he asked me when the last time I ate was. “What did this have to do with my heel?” I asked….naively. Almost as soon as I asked I knew it was in reference to my very-imminent requirement for general anaesthetic. ” It’s for the medieval-ass surgery we’re about to perform on your busted foot” he (almost) replied.
The non-resident Orthopedic Specialist happened to be on-site (at 6:30pm on a Sunday - impressive!) and willing to see me. He turned out to be a very professional, experienced Chinese Orthopedic Surgeon, and, through a mixture of Chinglish and Chinese, we managed to decipher that he was prepared to do the surgery that evening. ’Delighted’ with this news (I had only ever had surgery once before - in a western country) I decided to go ahead but was ultimately thwarted at the last minute by the bane of every expat’s existance - the Insurance Company. Their “24 Hour Emergency Line”, it turns out, had been subcontracted to someone else who (naturally) didn’t have the authority to authorise a guarantee for the costs of my surgery and who, tellingly, spoke with a Chennai-twang. Alas, I would have to delay the surgery 24 hours, giving me time to take the bits and pieces of information I had gleaned from the Surgeon’s brave but ultimately flawed Chinglish and piecing them together (with the help of Wiki and this brilliant blog) into something I could report back to my distraught mother in Australia.
I was required to arrive at the hospital for surgery at 2:30pm the following day, and, after receiving faxed approval from a non-sub-contracted department of my insurer, I turned up at precisely 2:29pm the next day. The problem this time was that this was my scheduled surgery time (of course!!), hence all the hospital staff were in a panic upon my late arrival. Traditionally, it seemed, people arrived an hour early for their pre-surgery consultation with the anaesthetist and surgeon prior to going “under the knife”. I asked the registrar why I wasn’t told to come early, to which she cheerily replied “it’s my fault, haha!”. “Hahahaha…..hahahahaha” I nervously replied back.I chalked this up to another of these great cultural experiences I am accumulating here.
Given the time, I was “briefed” by the anaesthetist in the pre-op waiting room and the surgeon in the surgery room, about 27.3 seconds prior to being anaestietised. As I drifted off into a narcotic-induced slumber, my last memories were of the anaestietist saying to the others in the room “he seems awfully tense!” For the life of me I cannot imagine why…
Post-op I spent 2 days in the hospital recovering and being monitored. I had the “good drugs” (morphine etc.) at my disposal, but having used them once manually I found them to put me in a weird state of tension and lack of concentration, something akin to an ADHD-affected 3-year old after too many lolly snakes (the ones with real sugar). I couldn’t even watch 5 mins of The Wire (easily the best show on TV after West Wing) without wigging out and calling for the nurse to ask when the Ewoks would kindly disembark from my brain. After half a day they took me off the good stuff and put me on oral anti-inflammatories, which were great, kept me “normal” and really helped with the pain and swelling around the wound. In the next day and a half I managed to plow thorugh 2 whole seasons of The Wire and 3 full Chinese hospital meals - braised mutton ligaments anyone? - before they kindly discharged me and let me escape for the comforts of my couch (with my full-body indent in the cuchions still intact!) and the remaining 3 seasons of The Wire.
I have spent the following 3 days since propped up on the sofa watching pirated DVDs and feeling sorry for myself, although my darling wife (now 3 months into our marriage - oopss…) has been a real hope-beacon, and unfailingly contributes to my increasing comfort (and waistline) by bringing me regular smoothies and Tim Tams (best biscuit IN THE WORLD).
I have been sleeping well, likely due to post-anaesthesia effects and the lack of pain or discomfort in my leg. Like many bloggers on the site, I now have an affinity with those poor souls that do this every day through permanent disability or long-term illness, especially with young children. If it were me I’d probably knock them out with my cast…Ninja Turtle style….
I have my first post-op consultation with the surgeon this Wednesday, 9 days post-op, to have the stitches removed. I will also have my first out-of-hospital consultation with my cheery Physio “Willy” on the same day. Willy is a legend who has prompted me to commence early, easy resistance exercisees on my quads, hip and groin on the affected leg to minimise atrophy, which I have been doing religiously while The Wire is on….go Willy.
Will update again after Wednesday - Party on Achilles brothers and sisters!
