January 16, 1999, after watching a performance of Collected Stories at the Pewter Plough Playhouse in Cambria, after testing the , under the pier in Cayucos, of one of the best women I had ever owned, after enjoying a thoroughly wonderful evening, while driving down Highway 1, a car entered the freeway by way of the off ramp and changed my life forever.
I felt an extraordinary pain in my left foot on impact. No doubt, bad stuff. Looking back, I know I should have pulled over, as close to the right hand shoulder as possible (off the road would have plunged the car down a 25 foot embankment - not good), but instead I pulled over to the left lane. He then starting pulling into the same lane. I tried to get back into the right lane when we crashed. It could have been A LOT worse. The woman that was with me could have died, I could have died, we both could be in a condition where death would be preferable.
He was drunk and ran away. He was later caught, went to court and plea bargained to four years, and with good behavior would be out in 32 months. Hes out now (I assume). I hope hes sober. He changed my life. I hope hes changed his.
My heel bone was shattered. The operation consisted of pushing and pulling all the pieces together in a mass that somewhat resembled an unbroken heel bone. The doctor wouldn't put a cast on the foot, but instead wrapped it with tape and bandage, the idea being that he wanted me to be able to move my ankle (somewhat) during the healing process. The pain was kept under control with a lot of vicodin and gin. When not in a wheelchair or up on crutches, I crawled ... and changed.
Crawling around on my hands and knees was humiliating. I had no choice but to walk again. The day I bought a pair of boots and was able to stand (not walk, and not for some time yet), I stood in the parking lot - oh God it hurt - but I stood, I was standing, and I cried.
Eventually, I was able to walk short distances without assistance, and joined a gym. I worked that leg, that ankle, that foot, with tears in my eyes from the pain, to get stronger. And I did, and the rest of me got stronger too. My body looks quite different from what it was before the accident. I think, for a 53 year old man, I look pretty good. I weigh about 215 pounds, but everyone thinks I weigh much less.. Weird and wonderful.
I want to be able to look at myself in the mirror. I have become vain. I want to look good naked; not feel ashamed.
I am 56 years old and everyday closer to death.
I wish I had a bigger dick.
I am blessed with family and friends. May we all live a thousand years.
I am alone, but NOT sadly, just matter-of-factly. I choose to be alone - not lonely - alone.
My girlfriend Vicki thinks this is sad. She is a wonderful romantic and (in my opinion) thinks love is enough. Thank you Vicki for caring.
THESE THINGS TOO SHALL PASS
Yet another change of life. (DAMN)
On September 6th, 2009, I crashed on my Piaggio, X9 - laid it down on my lower left leg - same leg that suffered the broken foot 10 years ago. I'm on crutches, no weight on the broken foot allowed, may start walking in two more months and dancing?...6 months, maybe. Lost weight. About 19 pounds. Also lost weight over the last four years, 20 pounds, because I cut out carbs and or animal products from my diet.
I've been battling depression since the accident, although I do feel a bit better since the second operation a couple of weeks ago to straighten out the leg.
Basically it's this: The tibia and fibula crushed. A steel rod was hammered home down the length of the tibia, pins holding it in place. So this is me now, almost 2 months since the accident.
And now this is me, May 21, 2012, 2 1/2 years later. I've regained about 80 % of the strength in my left leg, about the same in my left shoulder. I am dancing, and slowly, very SLOWLY, my ability to pivot on my left foot is coming back. The left leg is now 1 1/8 inches shorter than the right. I had the cobbler add an extra 1/2 inch to my left boot. I stick an 1/2 inch insert into my left tango shoe. I go to the gym 3 - 4 times a week.
And I am still riding the Piaggio.
I write down my work-out routine. I vary what I'm going to do every 7 weeks. I have a rocord of my physical profile. I record my creeping decrepitude. Yes, the broken leg set me back quite a bit; I'm almost where I was before the accident. And I can tell that I am becoming a little weaker as time passes. I'm on the downside of the curve.