My dog disapproves of my decisions in life.
Not even a month into 26 and already I am one step into the grave... or at least the old folks retirement home...
But I should have seen it coming. It is not a successful Memorial Day holiday until someone ends up in the hospital. In the past it was cousins or distant grandkids that served as supporting characters in our family... A kind of Red Shirt relative if we were living in the Star Trek Universe.
On Monday as I was dominating my brother in some Swimming Pool Basketball I decided to the ultimate act of humiliation by by jumping from about four feet away from the basket attempting a Wicked Windmill Dunk.
I jumped, I body checked him, I extended and threw the ball down as hard as I could.
The pain was excruciating. I thrashed around on the ground hoping to just rub some dirt on it and move on... but my left arm was curling in and I was struggling to breath.
The trip to the ER was awkward and it was like I had been kicked in the nuts... if my nuts were located on my upper-left back...
Dougie Houser, MD, says I tore either a ligament or some cartilage in in my back as I was attempting my wicked windmill dunk.
It hurts to breath, it hurts to stand, it hurts to even lie on my side, which meant last night found me sleeping uncomfortably flat my back.
On the plus side, I have enough pain killers to numb a small water buffalo.
But more importantly when history looks back on this scholars and historians will remember this: I made my two points.