It’s funny to think of that one year when March Madness saved my sanity, but it did. In fact, it has enriched my life in a few ways.
In early March of 1987, I was working in banking (a whole other story, mostly unpleasant). Our bank was undergoing a software conversion and my department was responsible for training the bank’s employees on how to use the new system. We were working 70+ hours a week. Consequently, I guarded my Sundays as a rare treasure.
On that particular Saturday, I’d worked a mostly full day. As tired as I was, I pushed myself to go to the grocery store that evening so I could have the entire day free on Sunday. It had snowed lightly a few days prior to this so there were little snow mounds in the parking lot of the apartment complex from where we had brushed off our cars. A hint of spring was in the air as it had been warm enough that day to melt a little of that small amount of snow. Just remember, snow melt may create black ice.
I returned from the grocery store, in my 1983 Subaru hatchback, to find the parking lot full. I’d have to park across the street but to save time and effort lugging grocery bags, I let my car idle in the fire lane to be closer to my apartment. I’d unload my groceries and then park across the street. A moment of brilliance in my thinking proved to be my undoing.
As I made my second trip from the car to my ground-floor apartment, my world literally turned topsy-turvy. My right foot went out from under me. My ankle turned. The toes of my right foot headed to the left and the rest of me launched to the right. Our bodies are not built to withstand that sort of torsion.
I crashed to the ground and grabbed my right ankle as though to squeeze everything back into place so it wouldn’t hurt so much. As I looked around into the darkness, I realized I was sitting in the driving lane of the parking lot near the only entrance. If someone pulled in, they wouldn’t see me sitting there. I must move, I thought, and I was obsessed with moving my car from the fire lane so it wouldn’t be ticketed.
I managed to stand. My right foot felt weird and wouldn’t cooperate. It felt disconnected somehow. Hopped to my car and got in, thinking I’d move it across the street. My right foot rested against the accelerator. It would not do anything else. Since my car was a standard I really needed two feet. Later I would learn my foot technically wasn’t connected and all it could do was flop.
Long story short, my neighbors moved my car. I called my mom and told her I needed to go to the hospital. I’d had numerous ankle rolls in my past and I knew there was something very wrong, not a simple sprain. On one foot I put away the groceries and changed my clothes. My ankle was so swollen it cascaded over my sneaker. I kept moving because I knew if I sat down, that would be it.
One week later I was ensconced in my childhood bedroom, my casted right leg propped on a pillow. I was too weak to go back to my apartment. I’d broken my ankle. Worse than the fracture was I’d torn all of the ligaments. They screwed the piece of bone back on. My tibia and fibula were also screwed together to allow the ligaments to heal. The foot was still very swollen. My foot was in an extended position because it would not return to a normal 90 degree position. I wasn’t allowed to put weight on that leg. The pain was palpable.
Sleep was fleeting. I had a 19” black and white tv in my room. There was no remote. I learned quickly to do some modified gymnastics so I could hang off the end of the bed and change the channel. Then I remembered it was the first weekend of March Madness. I watched obscure games well into the middle of the night for the next few nights. It distracted me from the pain. It was addicting and I followed as many games as possible. The tradition of watching the tournament continues.
As for me, one hugely positive thing came out of this experience. I was forced to sit for 10 weeks which gave me the opportunity to ponder my future. I knew it didn’t lie in banking. I investigated the possibility of a Master’s degree in English Education through the local state university. As soon as the screw was removed from my tibia and fibula, I could put weight on my leg. I started night classes a month later. I was blessed to be able to teach for over 25 years. I loved it. So even though I have permanent damage in my ankle, limited range of motion, and difficulties with flexion, I was able to secure my future. It was far more satisfying and happy than what I’d been doing.
N.B.—-I was wearing my favorite sneakers when I slipped on the black ice and destroyed my ankle. I couldn’t bear to wear them again 😢
Stories Are For Eternity 