Mortality In A Bathtub

Mortality In A Bathtub

It started many years ago. The injury.
I was a runner back then, before my knees said no more.
It was the last step in the run.
My right foot hit the edge of the paved part of the road,
which then dropped down about 10 inches to a very
narrow dirt road shoulder, my ankle turned violently inward,
the full weight of my body came down on it.
The pain was immediate and intense.
I tried to walk on it. No way. It soon began to swell.
I thought it was just a bad sprain.
The truth is I might have fractured it, but since I had no medical
coverage I didn't go see a doctor.
The next day I was scheduled to start a new summer job.
By the morning it was obvious I couldn't walk on it.
No car, no bus, no neighbor to give me a ride to work.
So I walked, the five miles, there and back, five days a week.
How did I walk? With my right leg sticking out at an almost right angle—way out there.
It must have looked ridiculous. Limping along the side of the road.
Passersby staring and wondering who the gimp was.
But that's me. No matter, I would tough it out. I needed the job.
I limped badly for several weeks, then a less pronounced limp,
finally after about 6 weeks I was able to walk normal again.
My boss suddenly saw I wasn't limping and inquired.
I then realized I'd never told anyone about my injury.
They all assumed I always limped. No I said and explained what happened.
Looking at a photograph from ten years after this injury,
I noticed my right ankle was thicker than my left.
It's been that way since the day of the fateful run.
Jump forward another 35 years and I started noticing little purple veins in my right foot and ankle.
I decided it was circulation. So I started doing daily self massage to this area.
I thought it might help—boy was I wrong.
After several months of this daily routine I was stepping out of the shower one night.
Drying myself, toweling off. I started to notice a peculiar thing.
Red spots everywhere around the bathroom.
Everywhere RED, RED—where is this red coming from?
Blood? My blood? I looked at myself—all over.
Nothing.
What the fuck? Am I in the Twilight Zone? Is this red stuff falling from the ceiling?
I get back in the tub to wash of the red off.
I have my right ankle up to clean and—SPURT!
A twelve inch stream of blood comes gushing out.
It shoots into the tub. I get that sinking feeling when you are reminded of your mortality.
I say to myself—keep yourself in check, don't freak out, we gotta stop this leak. NOW!
I did, with a bandage. I did some research online to figure out what I was dealing with.
I needed a pressure bandage on my ankle. I found an old one in the medicine cabinet.
It was really tight, but I guessed that was the idea.
I went to see a doctor for an educated opinion.
He told me I was lucky. “Those are surface varicose veins. Not the bad big ones.”
“You don't need a vascular surgeon. Just wear the support bandage. If it gets worse, then
come back and see me.”
I found a deal on athletic ankle supports at the dollar store.
I bought a bunch of them. Mr. Prepared.
I will have to wear this everyday.
It does make a difference. My right ankle is now the same size as my left.
No more leaks—so far!
But it's a reminder. We're slowly starting to fall apart.
Old injuries come back to haunt us. Taking on new dimensions with new symptoms.
We are heading for the end and moments like this get our attention.
Especially when we see blood, our blood, making a swift exit from our bodies.
It's sobering and gives pause to reassess one's life: its meaning and direction.
Yeah I was a dumb kid when it happened and now I am paying the price.
If I'd gotten proper treatment back then, then maybe, just maybe...
Still it could be a hell of a lot worse.
You've probably got your own health concerns.
We who are heading for the end of the line.
We who have made a few blunders in our youth.
We who get an occasional reminder we're not bulletproof.