Of course, I was scared of falling but under the circumstances I was more concerned about finding a way to get my wife and children to safety. I grabbed the rope, made sure it was tied securely to one of the railings, and began my descent. One hand, two hands, snap, down went Mallon from 14 meters up. I'm sure I went splat when I hit the asphalt but I was out cold upon impact. All I remember is hitting the deck, starting to fade, and then bouncing up in the air. I felt hands on my body and then people dragging me into the emergency room. In and out of consciousness, I then remember seeing my wife come in with Alex. She was crying and I had very little idea of what was going on. I do remember the pain in my head and left wrist and also wondering what the white things were that were sticking out of my fingers.
A doctor walked in with a serious look on his face. For some reason, everything was in slow-motion and he seemed to be taking forever. I think I told him to "Hurry his stupid Thai ass up and give me something for the pain." I thought he might have been pissed off at me for saying this because the next thing I remember is him yanking on my fingers and wondering why the hell a doctor was pulling my fingers. Did he expect me to fart?
The morphine shot came a few seconds later and I was out for the next four days. Comatose. When I woke up, my wife was asleep next to the bed. Despite my yelling at her to tell the nurse to give me more pain meds, get me food, and help me piss, she stayed with me for an entire month. That's how long it took me to get out of Ramkhamhaeng Hospital. Then I spent most of the next year on the sofa. It took nearly a year for me to be able to walk for thirty minutes. That was a year of misery but I was happy to be alive.
If I have nine lives, the fall was surely one of them. I've used a couple others up but I was about 10-15 minutes from dying from the fall. Why am I reminiscing about such a gnarly encounter with the asphalt? Because today is one of those days where I am in agony.
For the last month, the hip I fractured in the fall has been aching—continuously throbbing. There was a time when I was capable of doing the splits and kicking someone to the head. Now I can barely lift my leg over a motorcycle. I have lost the ability to do a leg lift and the inside of my leg is hot and numb. Apparently there is femoral nerve damage. A couple of years ago the orthopedic specialist told me that there might come a time when I need a hip replacement surgery. I am hoping this means in another 20 years or so, if ever, but right now I am feeling old, brittle, and grouchy. Despite having 240mg codeine in me, I feel like an African buffalo stomped on my hip.
I am trying to accept the pain, to revel in it. But I have things I want to do. I can handle not jumping rope anymore. I can handle no more boxing. I can handle walking, not running. But I'm not ready for a cane or a wheelchair or to be on the shelf for months.
Frustrated, irritable, and fighting desperately to write without swearing.
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