Step On A Crack...

“…break your mama’s back.” ~ Devo, Whip It

Thinking about how to begin....where to start. They say comedy follows tragedy, and with the event somewhat distantly behind me, I am able to (kinda) grin when reflecting.  "Trip-Splat" comes to mind as a favorite saying of Wes,' as he watches someone about to fall.  "I put the ‘Fall' into Fall Creek Falls.”   "Broke Back Mountain" also hazily surfaces in the frontal lobe; as does the song "Bust A Move."  No, that doesn't work.  How about the classic line “Help!  I've fallen and I can't get up!"  Yeah, that's more appropriate.  

It was indeed a beautiful start to the New Year.  We—like hikers and rangers in parks all across the country—participated in the "First Hike" of our own despite the cold weather.  None of us were ready for the park's "officlal" first hike—a 12-mile ranger-guided loop—so we did our own along a less traveled 4-mile loop called the “Paw-Paw Trail.”  After a wonderful day out hiking...without slipping on the ice…without tripping over a log…and only having one small slip while walking along a rotting log…I fell in a statistically more frequent location: inside our home (RV).  While walking too fast...in socks…on steps...on a carpet runner that wasn't secure...I slipped down a whole 2 steps….Trip- splat- indeed. 

Not sure if I landed on my rear, or if my back hit the steps, but I literally had fallen and could not get up.  The first responder to the RV was a young ranger shaking with adrenaline as I was her "very first real life patient."  She was so cute.  With a little teaching from my prior Paramedic days, she successfully took my (now elevated) high blood pressure.  I assured her that I was in a lot of pain and this was normal.  Once the local volunteer rescue squad arrived, they also got some practice as I told them anything but a backboard was impossible.  I thought a scoop stretcher might work, but they didn't have one.  Oh man did that roll onto the backboard hurt!  With our quiet campsite now doubled in population and illuminated by EMS disco lights, I was loaded into the ambulance for a 30-minute trip.   

The goat trail that Wes described Hank struggling to climb upon our arrival at Falls Creek was now providing a truly harrowing and excruciatingly painful ride down the twisty winding roads in an ambulance going a little too fast for my taste.  When the stretcher stopped the side-to-side swaying, we had arrived at the tiny 3-bed emergency room in the town of Pikeville.  

“...Prob'ly die in a small town...And that's prob'ly where they'll bury me.” ~ John Mellencamp, Small Town

Have you ever noticed how life in small towns always seems a little bit slower pace than you’re accustomed to? This is normally a charming trait—like during an afternoon of window shopping—but not as endearing when you’re in pain.  Although the ambulance driver did all he could to prove this small town pace to be an unfounded stereotype, once inside the local hospital (which also doubled as a nursing home), I was reminded that rural America is on a different rhythm.

Shortly after being checked into the ER, Wes arrived with The Boys in tow.  The attending physician astutely chose to get a CT of my spine; however, the tech on-call was physically working at another hospital…45-minutes away.  Once the radiology tech arrived, my gurney was wheeled outside into 20-degree weather..down the bumpy ramp and into the “Cat-Scan trailer” out back.  This was a bonus round for me as I thought all the bumps and jostling of the ambulance ride was over. 

I suspected something was broken but I didn't tell Wes.  Every time I had previously broken something, I knew it.  Some of you can relate; somehow you learn to gauge the severity of the injuries based upon levels of pain.  Well; not one, but two (Ah-Ah-Ah; The Count, Sesame Street) vertebra.  Fortunately, (yeah I know....how is there a fortunately to that diagnosis?) these fractures were not displaced, and of the transverse process.  Those are the little spiky things that stick out on each vertebra, and they did their job.  They protect the real important bone that your spinal cord runs through and are supposed to break and absorb impact before a major, potentially life threatening injury to your spine can occur.  Literally human crumple zones.  

So, Yep. I broke my back. On the mountain.  For real.

While I was awaiting the radiological interpretation from another location, Wes was in & out, managing the hounds.  They were hanging out in Hank, but the temperature required him to frequently go out to start the truck and keep the temperature comfortable for them.  I would later learn that one of them was so upset at all of the late-night excitement, that he vomited numerous times throughout the night.  More bonus material.

After several hours, the attending doc finished a final consultation with an ortho doc (located in a big city somewhere) and told me that:
- My back was indeed broken, and
- There was no indication that surgery would be required, (whew) and
- I was free to go home, rest and heal (uhhh, we are traveling?)

L3

L4

"I get knocked down, but I get up again.  You're never going to keep me down.” ~ Chumbawumba; I Get Knocked Down (But I Get Up Again)

Just before the sun cracked the eastern sky, we slowly motored up the Pikeville goat trail in a vomit-scented truck.  With great care and assistance, I managed to get out of the truck, across the campsite, and up/into the RV.  After navigating past the “scene of the crime”, I climbed into bed (as did everyone), and slept until noon.

Over the next several days, Wes & I began to learn new roles, as well as learn the limitations of multiple infrastructures.  Not only my limitations, but also those of Glory’s (the RV) cold tolerances, and our access to continued medical care.  After several “spirited” discussions with TriCare representatives located in warm cubicles back east, I received a reference to see an Orthopedic physician in Cookeville (TN).  A 2-hour round-trip trek in a truck built for work…not luxurious comfort.  I remind myself this is better than a referral to Nashville…2+ hours each way.

“It's not a season-ending injury….but raises the question whether he can tolerate a certain amount of pain…” ~ Jerry Jone; Dallas Cowboys Owner & CEO

I apparently have more in common with Tony Romo than just our mutual love for football and Texas.  It seems we both broke the exact same transverse processes in our lumbar spine.  “A Tony Romo Special'” were the words that the orthopedic doctor described the findings of my CT scans.  "Well THAT'S great news!" I think to myself as my left leg begins to go numb, and the knives jabbing into my lower back seem much hotter and larger that 14F day.  

He assured me that I could "play football" in a week if I wanted to; as evidenced by Mr. Romo's game presence a couple weeks after sustaining his lumbar transverse fractures. All I could muster was a weak smile and he verbalized “You look really uncomfortable."  Yeah, that's why I don't play poker, I thought...my face gives me away every time. 
           
We left the Ortho Doc relieved that surgery was indeed not required, but he did say "it's gonna hurt like hell”…and he was right!  This fall has put me in touch with a phrase I have heard but never quite understood—white-hot searing pain.  Those who know me well will attest that I generally grit my teeth and bear it.  This injury was too much for my will-power.  Wes was my hero.  He took care of me.  He cooked and cleaned, walked the dogs, did laundry, and brought me tea. He made me a contraption—"La Trapeze de Serta”—to pull myself up out of bed. He even dressed me when I couldn't bend over.  I spent the first week in bed slipping in and out of sleep/consciousness; with pain medication on board and a body that took over from my mind and made me rest.   

"La Trapeze de Serta”

"Success is the sum of small efforts repeated day in and day out.”  ~ Robert Collier

The second week was better.  I was no longer anxiously awaiting the next dose of pain medicine, and my mobility seemed to slowly improve.  The streak of bitterly cold weather had finally broken.  No one complained about the week I spent in bed, as the temperatures outside were single digits with sub zero wind chills.  Even the boys would run back to the fifth wheel when Wes would take them out.  In the days after visiting the ortho doc I was itching to get outside and at least walk a little.  He said I could even do (gentle) yoga...but Wes reminded me that he did not say I could go out and walk and slip on ice for exercise.  I argued that Tony Romo played football; but Wes also reminded me I was not Tony Romo, and despite what the Percocet was telling me—I was not invincible.  So I reluctantly took it slowly, learning that the back braces were actually my friend no matter how stupid they looked; and that walking around a fifth wheel does not equate to our normal 1-2 mile dog walks.  Oh, and walking sticks are important too.  Pain is a good governor. 

My (forced) New Years resolution is to be patient and slow down.  Not much yoga yet, but the walks are getting longer and the pain is just nagging instead of stabbing.  By the time we arrive in the western part of the country (where the really big mountains are), I will be ready!   And more patient.....:-) 

Until next time....your "broke back" guest blogger is signing off. 

 KLW (Kracked Lumbar Wobbler)