Home > Fitness, Sports & Other Things That Hurt Me > At least my physiotherapist will be happy.

At least my physiotherapist will be happy.

I went to see a physiotherapist on Wednesday to see what she could do about my shoulder. I injured it last summer at a soccer game and haven’t gotten around to fixing it yet. Essentially, it works well as long as I keep my arms below shoulder level. This is actually kind of a handy restriction to have, since the wtb is appalled by people who dance with their arms above their head.
 
During my appointment, the physio asked me when my next soccer game was. I replied that I had playoffs coming this weekend, but would then be off until October. Although she was concerned that I would be playing four games in two days, she was grateful for the month of rest. Plenty of time to fix me up and send me on my way.
 
Time passes and Friday arrives. I pick up the wtb and we head on over to my first game of the weekend. I tried to do all the stretches my physio recommended, but the game was a 6:30 pm start and after putting up the nets, there was barely enough time for me to get my gloves on before scurrying onto the field.
 
The first five or ten minutes of the game go well. I get a little work, but nothing I can’t handle. Then the magic moment: The ball is lobbed in from way down the field and is approaching me at a very high bounce with players giving chase. I make the instantaneous keeper decision to attack the ball. Normally when it is coming that high, I would either catch it, or if there’s a crowd like now, I would punch it. No problem. Unfortunately, it was out of my crease. I couldn’t touch it with my hands, which leaves me the option to head the ball. I have headed the ball before without any issues so I don’t anticipate any problems.
 
Problem.
 
The forward running in, trying to score, decides that she, too, would like to head the ball.
 
One of my defensemen  later sent me an email saying that the "sickening crack" of our skulls connecting gave her nightmares all weekend. Let me tell you, it was pretty loud from where I heard it too.
 
I dropped to the ground immediately, thanks to the effect of gravity on my large butt. I was on my knees with my head on the ground, thinking that because I didn’t know where the ball was and I was obviously not anywhere near the net, I should just stay down there until the ref blew the whistle. Then I hear one of my players yell, "She’s bleeding!" That doesn’t sound good.
 
I feel my nose as logically, that seems a good place to bleed and find nothing unusual so I think, "must be the other player". Then I lift my head and a stream of blood pours out from my left temple at roughly the same flow you’d get from a well-maintained drinking fountain. I watch the grass turn red.
 
By then my team surrounds me. I am thinking, ‘I hope the wtb’s ok or she’ll never come to watch another soccer game ever". I am told to lift my head. I do. Julie bravely puts her bare hand on my gushing forehead. I spurt blood all over her. She tells me to put my gloved hand against my head as additional pressure. I do.
 
Through the crowd of players and spurts of blood, I see the wtb. She defied her instinct telling her that only players were allowed on the field and came to get me! Someone wrapped a towel around my head and we all wandered off the field.
 
After doing a quick check to ensure my eyes were ‘tracking’, they gave the wtb directions to the hospital and we drove away. Well, there was a bit of a pause in the parking lot as small children danced around the car and the mother looked on with a very dopey grin. No lady, your children are not adorable, they are in the way and I’m bleeding to death. This towel with pieces of my brains on it should give it away.
 
Anyway, we got to the hospital and within 90 minutes, I had six stitches and a tetanus shot.
 
The player who hit me went to a different hospital and waited 150 minutes for only four stitches (no tetanus shot).
 
I was told that I had to be with a "responsible adult" for 24 to 48 hours and that she had to wake me up every two hours to ensure I was lucid. So I brought the wtb back to my place to be the responsible adult. (I had no other options – my mother doesn’t get here until next week.)  As the wtb can sleep through a train wreck, I set my alarm clock. It went off, I got up and re-set it for two hours later and went back to bed. In the morning, I asked if she heard the alarm go off at all that night, she replied that she hadn’t. So really, if I had died in my sleep, I’m sure she only would have told me to stop hogging the covers and then rolled my corpse off the bed.
 
Anyway, I was told not to do any strenuous activity for 24-48 hrs so I did not play the rest of the tournament. We finished second though. Exactly where we would have finished had I played the rest of the games.
 
The photo below shows what I looked like Sunday morning. It’s not as bad as it looks. I haven’t even taken a Tylenol since it happened.
 
And my physiotherapist will be glad my shoulder is ok.
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  1. Jenn
    August 31, 2005 at 12:17 pm

    Wow. That was a great story! I am so glad not to be the only one in this friendship with stitches stories anymore! (surgery doesn\’t count!) I am doubly glad to hear that you are ok.

  2. Angela
    August 31, 2005 at 10:24 pm

    way to use your head!rad stitches by the way.

  3. C
    September 1, 2005 at 12:43 pm

    Ok, you do look tougher than me now, but did you have to goto such extremes? Really…a stitch or two would have done it….or maybe even just the black eye…

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