The Injury Post. Come laugh at my misfortune...

This post is a redux of a post from the old “Some Lies”, now locked and hidden for many good reasons. This was first published in April 2006. I’ve neatened it up, and added a couple at the end. The re-post is for two reason. One, is I promised Microbiologist XX more of the old tales. The other is the sickening realization I’m back at year 1 of the cycle…

What cycle…oh, dear reader, read on…

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…So last night after band practice, me and my good mate and bassist William “The Beast”-“Lefty” Wallace (a man whose nickname is now almost as prodigious as his bass-work), were having a chat down the pub. Somehow the conversation steered to broken bones. We were likely talking about all the blokes we’ve beaten up and all the birds we’ve shagged. Cos, as rock stars that’s what we do. Or at least, we tell outrageous and grandiose lies about it.

Anyway, it occurred to me that this is year1 of my ‘about 3 year’ cycle. And that sends a shiver through me bones…cos they’re about to break.

See, ever since I was a nipper I have managed, through sheer bloody minded incompetence, clumsiness and stupidity, to break a bone on average every three or four years. There have been in betweenies too, and I thought once or twice I’d broken the cycle (along with my nose) but, alas, no. It might, however, make a nice blog post…

So.

1986. Age 11. Broke: left wrist. Backwards running race at the school sports day…yeah. Which fucking genius thought it was a good idea to have a bunch of skinny and uncoordinated 11yr olds sprint backwards? Walked home after school carrying my school bag (briefcase…fledgling geek) in the bad hand (fledgling idiot).

(in betweenie: “dislocated” elbow and (unrelated) eye surgery)

1989. Age 14. Broke: left wrist. I fell off my bike. Funny thing is, the day I got the cast off, I was chasing my brother to give him a bit of a hiding for something, when I slipped on a comic book and fell back on the arm and tore all the tendons in the wrist. How I laughed as I went back to the emergency room less than an hour after leaving it.

1992. Age 17. Broke left wrist and hand in 5 places. This time I fell down some stairs in Cham, Holland while on a youth hostelling tour of Europe. They had a brand new hospital and I was the first patient in X-ray. Which really made up for everything. Funny thing that tour…me and few of my mates on a church led trip. Priest in charge (and no he wasn’t a kiddie fiddler, so don’t ask), but I fell down the steps and by this point in life had a fairly good idea of what a broken bone feels like. I landed and yelled and then went into shock and started muttering, “I’ve broken my fucking arm. I’ve fucking broken my fucking arm” (being in a great deal of pain, you see). Priest tells me off for bad language. Cunt.

in betweenie: two major concussions requiring hospital stays, gashed hand requiring micro-surgery. Gashed forearm and elbow requiring blood transfusion (nice humeral arterial tear), and microsurgery.

1997. Age 20. Can’t remember. I did a lot (I mean a fucking LOT) of drugs in college. Sorry. Three or four years are completely gone. Bit of a bummer really cos I was too stoned to take photos. I did break my nose a couple of times, I remember that…

2000. Age 25. Broken tailbone. Fell off my mountain bike. I was riding standing up on the pedals going down hill and slipped. Dropped right onto the pommel of the saddle. Went camping in the woods two days later and forgot my sleeping mat.

in betweenie: broken finger. Boomerang related injury. Say no more.

2003. Age 27. Broke 4 ribs, two major concussions and my right knee. This was a good year for The Tideliar.

I broke two ribs in a snowboarding accident right at the start of the season. Both breaks were on my left side. A couple of weeks later, me and my good friend Shar get in a massive fucking car wreck a few miles outside Pittsburg. I knocked the passenger-side window out with my head. I’m really that fucking hard. I drove the rental car back home (4hr drive) cos poor Shar was too freaked out. It really was a very bad accident. The witnesses said they figured us for dead, for real. Anyway, I was nearly blind in one eye and completely uncoordinated two days later. About three weeks after that I’m at a party and a fight kicks off. Being the Super Ninja of DeathRock that I am, I waded in and got another two ribs broken.

Thankfully they balanced me out, cos they were on my right hand side. About two weeks after that I was snowboarding again…It was perfect, two maybe three feet of fresh powder. Your beloved Tideliar (albeit with perhaps one too many beers in him…it hurts to snowboard with broken ribs) finds the one patch of ice on the whole fucking mountain. It was right as I came out of a turn and my weight was on the toes of my back leg. I dropped my full weight at high speed onto my right knee. Ouch. I tried to stand, but the pain was quite amazing. I collapsed, but fearing landing on that knee I gracefully broke my fall with my head. Good job son! I was re-concussed and stuck a thousand feet or so up a mountain.

in betweenie: Broke a rib. My mate Big Jay gave me a bear hug. He isn’t called Big Jay for nothing. My band went on tour that summer and I had to play with a broken rib. See. Told you I was well hard.

2006. Age 29. Things accelerate now. I started Muay Thai (Thai Boxing). Broken ribs. Again. I got my ass badly whooped in the parking lot outside our “gym” and managed to pop a rib or two. I may have torn my diaphragm, but I have been known to exaggerate…

Also, whilst goofing during Muay Thai training, I also demonstrated my advanced training in clumsiness. I went to Thai-kick the kick-bag, for that is it’s purpose in life; it looked lonely, I was bored. You know how these things go…I now train in bare feet because my shin-pads have an instep guard that makes wearing shoes uncomfortable, and training in bare feet makes me concentrate on my kicks more.

However it also makes one’s feet slippery because of the dust. I didn’t check my stance, swung my right leg up and out, rotated at the hip and then my left foot slipped and allowed me to finish my rotation with the addition of a rather cool double back-salco onto my arse. Unfortunately the middle toe of my left foot stayed firmly planted and I rotated around it.

Looking down it was immediately apparent why my foot was numb. My toe was pointing off and to the left at a decidedly too jaunty angle. I have a fair amount of medical training and knew there was but one recourse. I sat down and used my hands to force my toes into a “fist”. I felt the toe slip back into its “socket” with a satisfying click. Being a super-hardcore motherfucker I just taped my toes up and finished training, which thankfully involved loads of kicking.

Stupidly I didn't go to the Doctor about this one. It's healed OK, but looks nasty still. The joint are misshapen and it still points to the left. It also aches a lot. Twat.

In betweenie: dislocated finger (this time I did go to the quack), broken nose (twice), a couple of mild concussions.

It’s now 2009. We’re halfway through already…do the math.

By the pricking of my thumbs,
Something painful this way comes.

After 23 years of The Curse, I know there is no fighting it. I’m hoping the constant stream of violence and aggression I enjoy is keeping me mildly injured to the point where those beings from another astral pain plain, those behind this Curse, accept my sacrifice as worthy. I somehow doubt it.