Haven't posted in a while but I've had a pretty interesting start to the year and by interesting I mean horseshit.
I play a lot of golf tourneys probably 20 a year. So I finish my first round of the year in early January down in Naples FL. Played decent for not picking up a club in a month and found myself tied for the lead. Had one beer all day, which is very low for me, but I had to drive back to my house which is two hours away. I grab my clubs off the back of the cart, take two steps towards the parking lot and boom I get blindsided in my rear left shoulder by a golf cart. Now for those who don't play this is extremely odd. People fall out of golf carts, they tip golf carts but it's extremely rare to get run over by a cart. So anyway, I have my clubs on my back and when this old fuck hit me I lost my balance and fell backwards. The old fuck then panics and hits the gas instead of the brake and I'm down under the cart and he ended up pushing me probably six feet with me under the cart. I feel like Nancy Kerrigan at this point. Next thing I know he panics again and I hear the cart being put in reverse. I'm thinking oh this guys going to finish the job now. My head is the only thing not under the cart. That's when I lost my shit.
I screamed to that old fuck turn this mother fucking cart off or you're dead. I will slide out from this disaster. He complies. So I slide out from under this thing and stand up. I look down at my right wrist and it's pretty mangled and intense pain so I know that's fucked right away. Left palm bleeding. Nice. Look down at left knee and I have around a five inch long gash on inside of leg. Look down at right foot and my shoe is missing and my ankle is bleeding and hurting pretty bad. I'm thinking what the fuck just happened. I look at the guy and said dude what the fuck. He's beside himself at this point, telling me he panicked and hit the gas instead of the brake yada yada yada. I'm like okay man no problem I'm pretty fucked up here but whatever. I'll live.
So this other guy comes up to me and says holy shit man look at the back of your elbow. I'm like what now. So I look at the thing and there's about the size of a dollar bill ripped in half of no skin on the back of my elbow/upper arm. Gone, nothing there just raw to the bone. Now I'm starting to panic a little. I own a little business that is blue collar in nature and labor intensive so it's very helpful to have two working hands. So immediately I'm thinking great I might be out of business here. Not to mention I won't be playing golf for a while depending how bad this is.
My brother drives us home while I ice the wrist the entire way. It wasn't actually feeling that bad by the time I got back home. I'm in the lead of the tourney with one day left so I figured hey maybe this heals by the morning and I can win this thing. When I get out of the car I pick up one of my golf clubs, gripped it and slowly tried to take a swing. I got it around a foot back and my right wrist feels like it's about to fall off. That's when I knew I was truly fucked. My wife want to go to the ER and I said fuck no let's wait till the morning to see how bad it was. When I took my clothes off my back pocket was ripped off my shorts and I had a huge rip down the back of my shirt lol.
Around 8 that night the real pain set in. Just like when I was a kid and fell off my bike and broke my left wrist. Pain wasn't bad until that night. That's when I figured it was broken for sure. I wake up around 4 am next morning my wrist is killing me I look down and my hand looks like a football. We go to the ER that morning and x rays say I have a fractured scaphoid bone. Fabulous. The bone that never heals properly due to poor blood flow. Oh I could barely walk that morning as well but x rays came back negative.
To make a long story a little shorter they gave me a brace, a referral to a hand and wrist guy, and they sent me on my way. I worked the next day. Probably the worst day of work in my life. I went home and almost cried knowing this was likely my life for the next six months. By Wednesday and Thursday my wrist started feeling a little better. After a couple different scans and tests over the next few weeks it was determined that it was a very slight fracture and bad sprain. By then my wrist felt decent. Decent enough to work but no way good enough to play golf. I did end up playing golf again a couple weeks ago. Around five weeks after this happened with my doctor's blessing. It hurt but was otherwise fine. Today it feels 95% normal. My left palm must have been bruised badly because it still hurts if I put pressure on it. I have a tourney next weekend. Total disaster averted although this year has sucked mightily.
A lot of you know my basset hound Roy. Roy is around 12-13 years old and has chronic bronchitis but has been treatable for the past year. A couple weeks ago we noticed he was getting a little round on the mid section. He was perfect otherwise so my wife brings him in for a routine visit. Vet says it doesn't look good. We're like wtf? Guy sends up to the emergency vet that day. $1700 later they tell us Roy has a very large fast growing tumor that is loaded with cancer and is everywhere and inoperable. We're naturally pretty devastated at this point because Roy is our baby. They're ready to put the fucker down right then and there. Meanwhile Roy is waggy tail barking having a blast looking everything but having cancer. I've had dogs with cancer before and Roy wasn't acting like them. We're like F this we're outta here. They ask us if we want them to send samples in to see what we are dealing with we said hell yes send them in.
A week goes by. Roy is still good but this thing is starting to get real big. Looks like he ate a basketball by this point. He's coughing a lot because it's pressing up against his lungs etc. Results come in and they're inconclusive as to cancer but whatever it is doesn't look good. The next day we bring Roy back to the vet to see if they can try to drain some of this mass then do a quick ultrasound and say no go. I tell the guy is there anything at all we can do I don't really care what it costs. He says there is another guy who does CT Scans on dogs. We figure okay this is it. This is the final test. If this thing doesn't work out then we're going to have to make a decision we don't want to make.
The test comes back as a massive floating mass which he thinks he can remove. Floating mass means possibly no cancer. We pony up and he does this surgery that was hopefully going to just be an incision then suck out the mass and go on with our lives. Oh no. Not with little Roy. They get going and realize this thing already burst open and they'll need to cut the fucker wide open to remove this monstrocity. Then ended up pulling out a ten pound as the doctor described "deflated basketball" out of Roy. Roy wasn't doing well I'm not going to lie. He's on pretty hardcore pain meds and last night I had to lay down on the floor with him at 2 am because he was crying and shaking. I felt probably the worst I've ever felt about anything because I'm thinking how the fuck could we do this to our little guy. Anyway, I come home from work today and Roy is almost Roy again. He's happy. He's eating. He's Roy. Now we wait for the results and to see if it was cancerous.
Do what you will with me but keep little Roy in your thoughts.
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Originally Posted by Sanlmar
