So I’m sitting here, donking it up in a cheap-o tourney, since I don’t trust myself not to go on mega-rage if I play higher and lose once or twice. I’m now wearing a knee brace as a result of my game tonight. Let me back up and go chronologically on this one. I may be a bit distracted as I’m tired, in pain, and playing a game…bear with me.
So the same night I made my last post, I called PT up to see how he was. He sounded ok, actually. He told me exactly what all was going on, the outlook, and his chances as he understood it. He said he was given about 80/20 on him getting through this ok. The 20% was a matter of conversation on his part, and thought it would be best to explain to me what he wanted to happen if he didn’t make it. Great. I now know what type of service he wants, how his “remains” should be handled, and where his most valuable things are, and how to go about putting them in my possession. Yeah, it’s nice to know he trusts me with this stuff over everyone else in the family, but it really wasn’t a fun talk. I later told him we’d be down to see him, to give him a heads-up.
I didn’t get to sleep until late. Or early, as the sun was peeking through while I was still staring at the ceiling. I finally dozed off and woke up at around noon. I felt like crap – I figured it was due to the late-night snack I had. Apparently chili and donuts don’t mesh well – who knew? I stumbled into the bathroom and realized I wasn’t doing so well. Let’s just say things got a bit…explosive. I soon felt nausea creeping in, and the “bubbleguts” weren’t going away. I didn’t want to go back into bed, since it was too far from the bathroom, so I made do. I ended up curled up in the fetal position on my shower bath mat, wearing only my boxers, and covered up with 2 beach towels. I laid there shivering, and twitching for an hour or so, until my mom called. I had thought to bring the phone in with me, as I knew she’d be calling. We had planned on going in to visit PT. I told her that I wasn’t doing so well, and asked her to give me an hour or so. It felt like 10 minutes later, the phone rang again. It was actually another hour, though. I still felt like shit, and was still writhing in pain while trying not to spew anything from anywhere. I told her I most likely couldn’t go, and she said she’d be over a bit later and still needed to tell my uncle Tommy what was going on. As he can’t really handle bad news without becoming neurotic, it wasn’t something to be looked forward to. I hung up, then proceeded to puke and shit my guts out. I guess my nerves were so bad that I got pretty sick. I was just pleased I managed not to puke and shit at the same time. Lovely, huh?
I started to feel a bit better, but was still dizzy and not quite…right. We ended up telling Tommy (handled it ok for him, but he was still trying to be “Mister Take-Charge” and took the opportunity to be “Mister I-Told-You-So” as well. Standard. I decided to accompany my mom, sister, and Tommy after all. I felt obligated, and figured PT felt a lot worse than I did. Plus, he’d probably feel bad if he knew his situation made me react the way I did. PLUS, I wasn’t about to abandon him when he faced Tommy for the first time in years. I sucked it up and went.
PT looked thinner. He was a bigger guy and while his face still seemed full, his arms were definately smaller. His stomach looked a bit enlarged, but that was most likely due to fluid that was accumulating. He said the night before that the doctors/nurses had drained a TOTAL of 40 liters of fluid from his abdomen so far. That can’t be good. His hair was also REALLY long for him. That, combined with his facial hair made for a strange combo.
He was pleasant, complained about the food a bit, but seemed ok for the 3-4 hours we spent there. His nurse was cute, so that was good. We ended up leaving, and interrupted the hour+ drive back home to stop for food. My stomach wasn’t having much fun, so I was only able to eat a salad. When the menu has steak, I’m not paying, and I STILL only order a salad you KNOW I’m sick.
That night, I got to be relatively early for me. I ended up sleeping 15 hours straight. Seriously. I felt a bit better the next day, but I was still woozy. Today, I felt better and went to my soccer game earlier tonight. I think I’ve mentioned that the team I fill in for kinda sucks, but they were playing an equally sucky team with a horrible goals against stat. I figured this was the game for me to figure out how to put the ball in the net. Within the first 5 minutes, we were losing 4-0. Amy’s hubbie was in goal, and while he is a nice enough guy, he’s not really a goalie. He can’t play any other position, though, so if I go in – he sits. I feel bad, so I usually just volunteer to play the field. When I finally took a shift, I seemed to be doing pretty well, and soon assisted on Amy’s goal. Later, I got the ball, drove into the attacking zone, flipped the ball past an over-committing defender, and rocketed a shot over the goalie’s shoulder. It was awesome. Later in the game, I scooped up a rebound, and slipped it in the goal with my left foot.
We were still down by 1 or 2 goals, though. I had just taken the shift where I scored leftie, and was having trouble getting my breath. Someone asked me why I was so pale, and I tried to explain that I had been pretty sick just 2 days beforehand. I told a few of the players that since we had 6-7 minutes left, I might be ready by the time we only had 2 minutes left to play if nobody else was ready to go. I really wish I had just taken a walk or something, though. With 3 minutes left, someone came off the field and Amy and a few others all looked at me and said, “You go!” I guess I’d try, so I went out to even the score. I had a chance or 2, and tried to chip one over the goalie’s head. I hit him in the face instead, so the ball bounced high and over my head. Since the arc was high, it landed nearby, and I now had my back to the goalie with a high bouncing ball in front of me. I wildly thought about attempting a bicycle kick, but that was quickly dismissed as I didn’t feel like breaking my already-sucky back. I’m not sure exactly what I tried to do – I think I tried to pop it in the air, spin around, scoop it past him…or something. I ended up trying to turn and I heard my knee make a soft “pop!” The world flashed white, and I hit the ground face-first. I was good, though – I didn’t yell, scream, or shout profanity. I probably had a nice grimace going, and I writhed around on my stomach a bit. Somehow, the clock buzzed, and I realized that that must have been the quickest minute and a half EVER. I tried to get up, and ended up crawling towards the bench area. I realized that looked really wussy, so I stood up slowly. I could tell my knee wasn’t quite right, so I ended up hopping off the field. I obviously forgot about doing the post-game hand shake, and sat on the bench with my head on the boards. I kept thinking that there was no way I was going to pay a few hundred bucks to have a doctor tell me it just needs time to heal again, as they did with my ankle. As I sat there, I started to get queasy. I’m not sure if it was the shock of the injury, or me running around too much. Either way, I stumbled to my feet, asked someone to watch my stuff, and limped off to the bathroom. I almost fell over at one point, but grabbed a wall to keep going forward. I composed myself as much as possible and tried to test out the knee while nobody was around. It holds my weight, and I can even raise and lower my body on one leg. Thing is, it gets weak when I straighten it. I can feel a little pain when I shift weight side to side on my knee on the left side of it. I have no idea what all this means.
I ended up getting an ice pack and telling those guys there’s no way I’d be able to play on Thursday. They seemed surprised by that. I guess they thought I was kidding when I said I heard a pop. I walked around Wal*Mart a bit with the ice pack wrapped in a tube sock and tied to my knee. It wasn’t pleasant. I really don’t know if I can play Friday or not. I’ll just wear the fucking brace and hope. Maybe I can get by in goal. It just blows, because everytime I start playing well on the field – I get hurt. Then it takes me a while to get healthy…or at least close. Then it takes me a while to remember how to play again, and good enough to the point where I know how to score and dribble again. Then I have a good game for me….and get injured. This is the 3rd time for this cycle to go on, now. The last time, I had scored 5 goals in 20 minutes before messing up my ankle. Tonight, I had 2 goals, 2 assists, and was pushing for the hat trick. It’s beyond frustrating. In the meantime, I’ve since busted out of that cheap tourney. I ended up mildly berating someone for bluffing a dry side pot (poker talk) and shoving all my chips in on his big blind with KJ suited. Of course, I ran into pocket aces, and off I went. I usually don’t steam like that, let alone seriously berate someone. I’ve since jumped into a cheap Omaha tourney, and have even once picked on someone after they called all the way to the river to steal 1/4 of the pot from me. This is why I’m not planning any serious poker for a while.
I go see PT again tomorrow. Should just be me, my sister, her daughter, and my mom.
Hip-deep in Shallow Tenacity 
