Sunday, May 22, 2005

The Accident (the official version)

(flashback sequence, April 16, a grisly tale)

A.S. wants to go surfing to help me get my mind off Woo, and because he just wants to go surfing every day. We head out after my friend's baby shower, and he lends me his longboard, now named "The Blue Shark." I eat it several times in the water that day, partially because I suck and partially because his crappy board is top-heavy and tends to nosedive if you forget to scoot backwards before popping up. I catch another wave and start to pop up, realize I need to be further back, scoot, try again, and then scoot some more (in the space of about three or four seconds), and the fat-titted bitch dives under the wave and somersaults. I dive to the bottom to get out of its way and actually don't even feel exactly what happens. Anyway, I'm goofy-footed, so the leash jerks the board back towards me, and the fin on the bottom slices off the top of my left foot.

When I come back up, I can't tell what I've done, but I know it is very very bad, and then feel the flap floating back and forth in the water. This feels rather nasty. Now in neck-deep water, I lift my foot above the surface, put it right back down and decide it is past time to go in. I must look ghastly, because the nice hippie stranger surfing nearby asks me if I am okay and need some help. My bearded savior takes the unwieldy longboard and hands me his nice, lightweight shortboard, and I hop onto the beach. Then I see that all the skin is hanging over the front of my foot and see all of my tendons, and my toes look like they have turned inside out. [Everyone seems to think that the salt water must have stung, but honestly, when all THAT other shit is hanging out, who gives a FUCK about salt water?] I sit down and put my head between my knees and start shaking, and Hippie John says, "Oh my God!" and grabs me in a big bear hug.

My main worry is that A.S. might not have seen it happen and could be hard to find, since all surfers are hard to identify from the beach. But I look up and saw him jogging down the beach with his board- I've never been so glad to see anyone in my life [not that I can actually speak]. So he gets to us and says, "What happened? Did you hit your head on the board?" And I sort of mumble, "No." And he says, "Are you okay?" And I say, "No." And Hippie John says, "Dude, look at her foot." And A.S. drops his board and sits down hard and says, "Oh shit."

Then he piggy-backs me to the boardwalk and drapes me over the railing while he fetches the car. This horrible medic who is malingering in the area stops by to tell me that it looks REALLY bad and I will have extensive nerve and tendon damage and never regain the use of anything and will probably end up with a blackened club foot. I exaggerate only on the club foot remark. Wherever that bitch is, I hope she has ingrown pubes.

So A.S. and Hippie John help me take off my wetsuit, and what a treat that is. And then we go to the hospital, which takes about 30 minutes, and I writhe around the whole time moaning, "They're going to poke it!"

[And they did. Endlessly. And they're still poking it. I'm like their little pink voodoo doll. So they reattached everything and washed it off and sewed it all back into some semblance of a foot. But the skin kept on dying, and the doctors kept on poking, and I've been on bloody awful crutches for a month, and last week I had a skin graft. So that's the story. Any questions?]

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