Setting the Scene

It was winter 2002. Scratch that. It was the beginning of spring 2002. And I was at Talisman Resort with Matt who was competing in a series of ski competitions. This was the last one which involved I THINK the half pipe but who can really be sure.

I was skiing down a smooth and creamy run when suddenly my right ski caught something, pulling my leg out and back. I crumpled. I heard a pop but didn't know what that meant. Fuck. A snowboarder cruising by stopped and asked me if I was okay. "I don't think so," I said shakily. Unsure of what to do, I sat for a moment riding out the pain, then carefully stood up. I could see Matt at the bottom of the hill walking as quickly as he could in those cumbersome ski boots up to meet me. Together I hobbled to the bottom of the pipe, my knee slipping left and right on the way, where I sat for the rest of the afternoon.

I forget whether he came first or second in the series.

Returning home, I endured a hospital visit, months of limping and discomfort, a few doctors visits and finally an MRI, with diagnoses ranging from nothing serious to fully torn Anterior Cruiate Ligament to partially torn Anterior Cruciate Ligament. The latter is what seemed to stick, and for the last six years I've been pretty much unawares of my knee or any injury I had sustained.

Last spring I started playing ultimate frisbee. I love it! It's great. In June I sprained my ankle. I hate it. It's bad. I now wear a brace. In mid December my knee went one way when I went another and I suddenly remembered my ACL injury of yesteryear.

It hurt far less and the limping ceased after only days, but clearly something was askew.

A trip to the sport's medicine doctor in January left me with a likely fully torn ACL diagnosis and an MRI appointment. Plus physio for which I have no coverage. The MRI confirmed the bad news and since around March I've been on the waiting list to have surgery with the esteemed Dr. Marks, who, by the way, is the lead surgeon for the Raptor's.

Basically at this point I'm waiting for a call that will say, "hey, we have a spot available on Tuesday". I could perhaps be calling to pester my way into a sooner spot, but I'm happy living my life relatively normally (though sans ultimate). On the other hand, the sooner I have the surgery, the sooner I'll be healed and back on the field.

Do I really care about getting back on the field? Sure. Having a goal makes this so much more worthwhile.

Then again, I could just take up rowing...