Three Weeks in the Life: woke up, got hit by a car...

Day 1: Ask Joe Mathias or John Emami.

No just kidding, I suppose the logical place for me to start is at the beginning, so that’s where I begin my script… A classic dilemma: whether to eat before a workout or not. And the classic reasoning: an athlete needs energy, but doesn’t want to throw up; wants to stay nourished, but remain slim. But for me, I was regretting the piece of whole-grain bread I’d downed at 6:50am in preparation for a 9-mile run for none of the above reasons. Rather, the bread was a lump in my stomach keeping me from surgery at noon. Because at 7:30am, as I was running along a two-lane country road in George, South Africa with my friend Joe, I was hit by a car from behind, as it made its way into the wrong lane and even onto the shoulder to recklessly pass another car. My right ankle and foot were shattered, obviously implying the total destruction of my running shoe. Gruesome details aside, I was finally ushered into surgery around 7pm that night. But those 12 hours leading up to surgery bore unbearable pain (don’t think me a wimp, it hurt like hell), two hospitals, two uncomfortable-to-the-max car rides with me strewn across the backseat, x-rays, a CT scan, multiple morphine injections followed by morphine-induced vomiting, expensive calls to PC and family, a conversation avoided with my injurer’s lawyer who showed up at the hospital in an attempt to defer blame, and unforgettable kindnesses displayed by my two good friends, John and Joe. How lucky I was to be travelling with those boys.

Day 6: It was an active day, the most active I’d been in six. I’ve learned the best way to avoid the 4am baths is to not be awake and ready for them. Sounds obvious, but I wasn’t keen on inconveniencing the nurses at first. But if you act like you’re the one being interrupted (as if 24 hrs in a bed doesn’t present enough opportunity for sleep), then the nurses will back out with a humbled “we’ll come back later.” So today 6am was able to tick by before I wrestled myself from my reverie. A solid night, considering what was anticipated: off goes to bandaging and a check at the progress is made. Dr. Barrett, my orthopedist forced me to pull my nose out of the Sudoku blocking my view of my foot, and I’m glad he did. Even though the stitching, wiring, bruising, swelling and oozing make my foot look more like a prop in a horror film, I can at least understand where my pain is coming from now. The worst part, and immediate concern, is for the extensive tissue damage done to the back of my heel (where initial impact and the hard back of my shoe made for a poor combination in exemplifying skin’s resiliency…).

Day 15: I’ve got the nuances of the hospital down. But that won’t give me anxiety over leaving when I finally can go. George Hospital has been caring to a truly great extent, but get me out! 15 days in a bed; 15 days in pain; 15 days of sleepless nights and hospital food; 15 days waiting for the next step: a next surgery, a next doctor, a next excruciating hour of bandage removal and replacement to check the progress. But it looks like Thursday’s my day! I can say goodbye with a heartfelt “thanks” to all the fine nurses and hop (ugh) on a plane; off to Pretoria, where I’ll spend a day in PC care, finalizing plans and filling paperwork for my COS (that would be Close of Service, an acronym which the pang in my gut tells me I am far from accepting as indicative of my case…). Even Rob has already been here for 11 days. Currently out enjoying the beautiful mountains by bike, as he should, he’s been a great comfort. He’s no mom, but his consistent candy-, email- and story-times have safeguarded my sanity. So he helps me move in 2 days: the critical moment between surgeries. My 3rd surgery was a damaged-to-the-point-of-death tissue-removing procedure in preparation for a skin graft. The area of concern being the swath of heel from inner to outer ankle, with little muscle and fat, will be tricky; the graft needs an excessive amount of time to settle. Which essentially means a few more weeks in the hospital after the graft surgery is done upon my return. Oh well, at least I’ll be a little more entertained than I have been for the past 15 days (I rue the day John and Joe left! [Day 7]). I think I’m going to start studying for the GMAT to keep my mind from wandering to the cruel truths lying beneath this injury, keep my mind from missing Uganda. But for the next 2 days, at least, I’ll be preoccupied with helping PC arrange for my travel. Ambulances, business class seats for my foot’s extension (far-from-worth-it perk), a speedy layover on account of a vacuum-sealed bandage with a 24hr battery life, and enough pain killers to prevent the altitude-induced swelling from reaching unbearable levels (“Who? You mean the man with the morphine shot? My dad? Sure… he’s a certified nurse…”): logistics I’ve always desired managing. How lucky for me!

Day 18: I flew to Pretoria two days ago. First leg of my journey completed. Today I catch a 8:10 flight out of Johannesburg, arriving in Atlanta 18 hours later and Chicago 4 after that; with time changes and layovers that puts me squarely in the backseat of my mom’s SUV-thing at 11am Monday morning. The Peace Corps South Africa headquarters are what’s tying me to Pretoria: all PCVs with serious medical cases find their way here to recover and receive care that can’t be found in Uganda, Rwanda, Morocco, Madagascar, Zambia, Swaziland, Lesotho, you get the gist. So we’re an interesting crew here; broken jaws, fractured skulls, food poisoning-induced arthritis, abnormal blood tests. Oh Africa. How I’ll miss you… But even though I’m coming home, and anxious to see friends, family and a good-looking boy, I’ve set my sights on August/September to find me back at St. Thomas Vocational Secondary School in the boonies of Uganda. Luckily all I’ll have is time in the States; time to dedicate to sitting in a hospital bed waiting for a skin graft to take and, more importantly, time to dedicate to rehabbing to make me run again. And for support with that, there’s nowhere I’d rather be than with those I care about in the U.S. To those in Uganda: I miss you already. To those in America: see you folks soon!!!