Almaden Resident

Columns

Taking a break from soccer makes sense

By Dave Kehmeier

My wife, Ellie, and I decided not to play soccer this fall season. In my case, after hobbling through the last two seasons with chronic injuries, I've come to the conclusion that playing soccer is incompatible with most other forms of physical activity such as getting out of bed in the mornings.

In Ellie's case, she's taking a break from this season because she suffered a break in the spring season. She and an opponent were chasing after a ball when the other woman did a sneaky little thing with her hip that the ref didn't see but sent Ellie sprawling. She landed on her wrist, snapping the radius bone just behind the joint. Clearly, the woman should have been red-carded, or at the very least, head-butted out of the game.

I didn't see the play because I was home getting ready to go to my soccer game. It's just as well. I wouldn't have wanted to run the risk of getting sick in front of all those women at the sight of Ellie's mangled wrist. They splinted it with a shin guard, wrapped it in ice, and a teammate's husband drove her to the emergency room where I met them.

The waiting room was packed. Besides the man in the corner with blood running down his face from a gash in his head, no one except Ellie looked to be in very bad shape. As far as I could tell, they were all just there to watch the NBA playoff game. The thought occurred to me that you could make a lot of money selling beer and peanuts in that place.

We were in the ER for 4¹/2 hours. It took an hour just to be admitted. Apparently, Ellie's break didn't excite them very much, even though she was nearly hysterical with pain. I probably should have stopped watching the game and raised a bigger stink.

It took roughly another hour to get X-rayed, an hour for them to finally give her some pain medication, an hour to put on a temporary splint (the break was too bad for them to deal with), and a half hour to convince them to let us leave. I have a new slogan for their marketing people: "There's no urgency in emergency."

But that was just the beginning. The next morning, we showed up at the orthopedist they had arranged for Ellie to see, only to find out he wasn't covered by our insurance plan. His secretary recommended another one. We drove there. He was on vacation for two weeks. His secretary recommended another one. We drove there. He was booked and couldn't see Ellie for a week. Neither could his partner. Clearly, we were caught in the middle of a pandemic of broken bones in the Bay Area.

Finally, an orthopedic surgeon hastily referred by our primary care physician agreed to see Ellie the next afternoon. It was the best we could do. We drove home, Ellie had Vicodin for lunch, and went to bed.

The doctor seemed like a nice enough guy. There was a framed cover of San Jose Magazine on the office wall with the cover story "The 100 Best Doctors." We assumed he was listed in it. His specialty is hip replacements, which was a bit of a concern. A sculpture stood in the corner of the reception room, made out of various pieces of rusted scrap metal and artificial hip joints. Maybe he's a welder too.

His diagnosis, after looking at the X-rays was a broken wrist, so we figured he was at least minimally competent. He impressed us by using a 10-word medical term to describe the fracture. Then he explained in detail the surgery he would perform to fix it. Ellie, of course, would be unconscious during the surgery. I nearly lost consciousness while he was describing it.

The surgery took place the next day, three days after the break. It was a very pleasant experience. Everyone at the hospital was very friendly and professional. They smiled a lot, even before they made Ellie strip down and put on one of those hospital gowns that tie (but not very well) in the back. It seemed a bit unnecessary for a broken wrist.

The surgery was successful, although five months later, Ellie's wrist still looks a bit like a hip. She goes to a physical therapist for periodic torture, and is slowly regaining full range of motion. It will be months before her wrist is back to normal, though.

Something like this was bound to happen sooner or later. It's risky business playing a contact sport at any age--particularly ours. After seeing what Ellie went through, and is continuing to go through, I'm just glad it happened to her, not me.

Wait. Did I just say that?

Dave Kehmeier is an Almaden Valley resident and a regular contributor to the Almaden Resident. You can reach him at djkehmeier@sbcglobal.net.