Recovery (IV)

 Figured as it had been more than a month my faithful one or two readers (not excluding myself) were due for another update on recovery. And seeing as how this the ultimate "down time" of the year, that is holiday season during the COVID-19 pandemic, I honestly do not have much to do other than update the legendary recovery blog.

So, what's the theme for this period of Recovery? Two steps forward, one step back. Please take the liberty to make your own walking on an injured ankle pun here. One hundred percent. And my most recent follow up with the clinic was certainly many steps forward. It really was night and day during that week. I went from planning the trip to the clinic via uber and having no idea how it would turn out to being elated that I had many freedoms finally restored to me: being able to drive, being able to walk without the boot, being able to begin physical therapy, and being able to take a full bath and shower. And after 2.5 long months of being without those freedoms, I wasted no time immediately re-introducing myself to them once again. 

And no doubt about it, I felt GREAT and free again. Like I was getting my life FINALLY back. I made the first appointment with the physical therapy group the next day. And for the first time since I turned the dreaded 40, I actually was able to relax and enjoy the Nintendo Switch my friends had given me. Life was okay once again. 

I showed up to my first PT session not quite sure what to expect. I was imagining I would be given an assesment of my strength and range of motion, and I was correct about that. I wasn't quite able to walk up the stairs step over step, but at least I was able to walk up the stairs instead of taking the elevator. I met my physical therapist, Ron, and he actually decided I seemed to be farther ahead in the recovery process than where he thought I might have been given the time frame. I was pretty happy about that, and he seemed like a pretty cool guy. I managed to re-tell the story of my accident and rescue and the other therapists/assistants seemed quite impresed. I have to admit it's a pretty good story, but MAN well no I don't really get tired of telling it, but it still freaks me out at times. Note: PT is considered an essential service and masks were required to be worn at all times. 

So there we were. I was set up on the PT schedule. I had exercises to do at home with resistance bands and I intended to do absolutely 100% of them exactly as ordered. And it was time to visit Sacramento again, this time for Thanksgiving. Back to normal right?!?!

You know how this goes: not exactly. Alanis Morissette sings about it in "Ironic". "Life has a funny way of sneaking up on you when you think everything's okay". Yeah. Figuring the major steps of my recovery were now over, I made plans to date again that weekend via some nice outdoor dining that would be closed in a few days due to the latest Shelter In Place orders. And I had fun! And then the weirdest thing. That depression I thought I'd conquered came back. JUST when I was starting to feel more like my old self, and my dreams were coming back, so did the darkness. It sneaks up on you sometimes. You get through depression much the same way you recover from an injury: two steps forward and one step backwards.

This bout was more or less compounded by the latest restriction on not being able to outdoor dine. My so called "pod" did not hang out any more either. I spoke with my counselor and was told it is very common to find your recovery comes in cycles. It was hard, but I kept going to PT, kept up with work, and made it through just enough to start feeling okay again. 

I have grown to like PT. Fortunately, Ron has measured that I have already exceeded my range of motion goals for my ankle. I am challenged at each session, and my ankle feels really sore right after, and yes sometimes it still freaks me out that it is sore, but it is the good kind of sore. The strengthening and re-gaining flexibility kind of sore. I can now walk up and down stairs step over step. I've been able to go for a 2 mile flat hike. I can cycle indoors more or less indefinitely. Progress.

However, this holiday season was hard. Two good friends (mentioned in the last entry) contracted Covid-19 along with their children. They are okay now, but one of them found it exhausting. And like everyone else, this certainly wasn't the most "family full" of all holiday celebrations. It was tough. Though I got in a few face time sessions with the nephews, it wasn't the same. I was fortunate to be able to spend the time with my Mom though. 

So that's where I'm at now. Staying positive that recovery is going well and physical therapy rehab is going well. Blessed that I still have my job and have been able to spend some time with my Mother. Also thoroughly enjoying the virtual hangout gaming sessions. 

But it's ups. And downs.

Recovery (III)

The previous update sort of trended from an overall very relieved and happy mood to a more anxious to see the light at the end of the tunnel mood. This one more or less trends in the opposite manner.

Shortly after I published the last entry, I found myself wholly overwhelmed by the situation. Whereas earlier I had been able to convince my mind my situation was temporary, and I would go back to being fully functional, and I just needed to make the best of my downtime, I suddenly found myself completely unable to rationalize my fear of being permanently disabled into a proper perspective. It doesn't make a ton of logical sense, but my mind went to a very dark place. I eventually came to a point where I had spiraled out of control even. In addition to my fear of being disabled, I found myself very socially isolated (of course along with many other people at this time) due to Covid precautions. Often, two of my greatest mechanisms for coping with stress have been visiting friends and family as well as getting exercise in. Visiting friends was helpful, but not regularly possible. Visiting family all but entirely impossible. And of course while I could do core and upper body exercises, I was far away from the release an outdoors run or bike ride or swimming provides. YIKES.

I noticed signs in myself of depression. My appetite had waned. While I was of course able to functionally eat I took no pleasure from it. My sleep was off. I was not able to enjoy any parts of my day. I told some of my closest friends and family that hey, I needed some help, and I was planning to get counseling. They were entirely supportive in pretty much the best ways friends could possibly be. I went ahead and signed up for counseling sessions. I also decided to make a temporary move back to Sacramento to spend two weeks living with my mother after I received a negative Covid test. I basically just needed to not live alone for a while. Everything I had experienced seemed to have finally caught up to me. And I will just say, my experience was NOTHING compared to what a veteran must feel after being in combat.

The move and seeking of counseling proved to help a LOT. There certainly were no magic cures, but I began to feel just a bit better. I returned to my place in Mountain View with some trepidation. It was once again time for a follow up visit, on November 18.

Back to the clinic, SAME nurse yet again, same process of getting X-rays, same nervousness when Dr. Chou walked in the room. I tried to tell myself to have expectations that even though I might be cleared to progress in some ways, I shouldn't expect to be fully back to normal until much later.

I was told once again that my x-rays and healing looked great. My visit this time was actually very rapid, which was a good sign. Dr. Chou progressed me to walking without wearing the boot (which in turn meant I was able to drive again), cleared me to begin physical therapy, took away all restrictions concerning keeping my wound dry, and told me I would likely need to come back only one more time and in six weeks.

OH MY GOD YESSSSSSSSS.

Again, Matt, don't get ahead of yourself, you're not ready to start running 3x a week again. You can't do a boot camp workout yet (not that I could anyway with Covid restrictions). But OH MY GOD that first drive for even a half mile to get out of my place felt GREAT. Then just because I could, a ran a grocery store errand for a friend. I worked for a few hours out of my truck in a place with wifi. I took a bath. And I drove by Stevens Creek trail, where some 90% of my runs over the last 15 years have taken place, and walked on the trail for about five minutes. Walking without crutches was nice four weeks ago, but these activities felt like a god send.

This past week has been night and day. I still have a long road of recovery to get back to full athletic functionality, but my basic life functionality has been restored. I am eager to begin physical therapy work next week and absolutely intend to follow all given instructions and exercises to a tee. Now I also feel a sense of a need to somehow find something positive to take from the experience. 

Recovery (II)

 This one is a bit happier/more optimistic, I promise ;) Again be forewarned it still is a "Recovery" article.

I think I was DEAD ON about support from people. I mean, we're complicated beings with our own agendas and egos. We see our friends and acquaintances succeed in life or find happiness and on some levels we are indeed happy for them while on others we can't help but feel a twinge of jealousy. At our best, we remind ourselves not to draw comparisons and that we are best off finding inspiration in the success of others. At our worst, we wonder why we haven't been blessed with similar successes and rationalize that our own lives have been inundated with far more adversity than our peers. Or maybe that's just my internal strife....

Regardless, I have found a basic trait of human nature (and again.... I claimed this entry would be "optimistic" not "cynically realistc") to be that if you're just generally a good person and do your best to help others when you can, they'll most likely do the same to you in your time of need. We could get into some Jean-Luc Ricardian scarcity principle arguments or prisoner dilemma game theory here, but hey there's a reason the "Golden Rule" or "Karma" is so ubiquitous in our worlds' major religions. People LIKE to help each other out. Especially people they like or in turn have helped them out. So again for my recovery, a lot of it has been sucking it up, admitting I'm feeling weak, and just really taking a lot of comfort in my great group of friends/family.

I was nervous as all hell again prior to my October 2nd follow up visit. Nervous about what my prognosis would be. Nervous if life would ever return to normal. Nervous if I would ever run again. Fortunately, my Mom came down again to help give me a ride to and from the Stanford Orthopedics clinic. I showed up for my appointment. The nurse welcomed me, took a brief survey of my pain/healing progress, and then told me to await the arrival of the orthopedic technician. Said technician then entered the room and pulled out his special "cast saw". Whoa! Didn't know that's how they'd remove my splint. But sweet. Splint off. WOW so that's my right leg now! 

Not like as TINY as I feared it might be, but pretty significantly atrophied. And surprise, my right ankle was not really swollen that much anymore. The stitches didn't look too gruesome either. Also, I actually could still see the permanent marker on my leg indicating ONLY OPERATE ON THIS ANKLE more or less. Hopefully this was a clear sign to the team I had taken their "keep the wound dry" instructions to heart! Finally, I took a glance at my post-op X-RAY from September 15. Kind of weird seeing metal in your ankle? But overall the hardware was much smaller/minimal than I had feared. So far so good.

Enter our fearless leader, Dr. Chou. This is the big one. I exhange greetings and sort of very sheepishly mention how much I would love to run again even though I know it's very early in the recovery process. She all but laughs at me and assures me I will be running again although she officially refrains from making an official promise. I've become fond of her. And instantly my heart melts.

That is the biggest relief I've felt in maybe my entire 30s decade. 

Close runner ups are probably like not DYING the first Widlflower Long Course race (certainly died in 2013 though), working for RTI full time, being able to announce to friends that our Kilimanjaro summit bid was successful, my parents having successful surgeries, and maybe my 2019 raise. It felt damn good. And I'm pretty certain the nurse could tell I had a few tears of relief when she re-entered the exam room. Dr. Chou set me up with a boot (not a hard cast!) and cleared me to remove the boot for cleaning and stretching once a day. She then told me I would be able to start weight bearing after my follow up visit in 2 weeks. 

I started to realize and think that I was going to be okay. I was also fortunate a number of friends decided to meet me for a socially distanced gathering at Rengstorff Community center that Sunday. PHEW. Things got a lot better. The next two weeks were far more managable. Just that feeling of knowing things were going to be okay did a TON to make the non weight bearing/dependent prison more tolerable. It is hard to describe how relieved I was. Life was suddenly pretty good again.

That's the HAPPY part. And it was indeed a pretty happy time. But lest I give you a storybooked Disney ending, please remember this is a "Recovery" entry. Spirits were far higher, but I was still entirely non weight bearing and void of the usual exercise routine. And I still had a long way to go. A LONG way. As my next follow up visit, Oct 21 approached, I got nervous again. I think the magnitude of the ordeal sort of becomes VERY real as I prepare to return to the clinic. This time I was worried that there was some bleeding from one section of my wound. 

Surprise, my actual first return to the clinic was Oct 19, as they had made arrangements to remove my sutures prior to my official Oct 21 visit. I showed up and actually had the SAME nurse (nice!). She proceeded to EXPERTLY remove my sutures despite a touch of light headedness on my part. That felt great, one more step towards healing. Yet she did encounter some bleeding. Another nurse came in and decided that there were no signs of infection, yet she wanted to keep her eye on the bleeding.

Two days later, I returned. This time was the more serious visit. I showed up and was taken to the Xray room to view the progress of my healing. Shortly thereafter I was sent to a waiting room where I'm quite confident I overhead one of the nurses mention "This ISN'T pretty". UMMMM were you looking at my Xray???? I was then called back by the SAME nurse once again. She and a few other nurses removed the tape from my ankle, and examined the wound. This bleeding that I had been concerned about ended up being due to some extraneous tissue known as "exuberant granulation". One of the nurses joked that I was a "super healer" and actually grew too much new skin! I was relieved, as this issue was resolved by applying some Silver Nitrate a few times to cauterize and eliminate the extra tissue. The wound itself had been healing fine.

And more importantly, both the nurse AND Dr. Chou agreed the healing was going really well given the Xray. Great! This "victory" of course lead me to being progressed to the healing state of "being able to walk while wearing the boot". And I tell you, although there is pain as I work to regain my ankle strength, those first few steps felt MAGICAL. Then showing off my new mobility to friends, being able to walk to my apartment dumpsters to get rid of trash, and for the first time in 6 weeks jumping in my truck (not yet driving) were accomplishments. These were boons. 

HOWEVER, reality set in pretty soon after. My next follow up and chance to progress to the next stage of healing would not be until FOUR weeks later this time. And that seemed SO long away. More importantly, I would also not be driving nor beginning physical therapy in the same 4 week time frame. So I was left with quite a bit of a feeling of, GREAT PROGRESS, and soon after NOTHING HAS REALLY CHANGED.

And furthermore, once you start walking again on your injured ankle (albeit in the ortho boot), you very likely will feel like you've even taken a step in the WRONG direction. It HURTS when you start to weight bear, because it has become accustomed to being functionless as the bone heals. The tendons and ligaments tighten up without being moved. The muscle atrophies. Suddenly, the feelings of making progress and moving to the next level can very easily be replaced with the feelings that you're actually regressing to a time you felt MORE pain. 

So this is where I'm at now. Still elated by the fact that the healing is progressing and the prognosis is I will resume running. Yet, also feeling the fatigue of how long the road to continued recovery is. Sorry, no happily ever after! But this is stage II. 

Recovery (I)

 I definitely further qualify this "Recovery" entry with the "I" as I am unsure how many recovery entries there will be. After reading up a lot on the ankle fracture recovery process and hearing first hand from Sha Sha's friend Buddy, I know it will be a slow process. But I'm hoping that at least I will see progress during the recovery, no matter how slow it is.

Initial recovery from the surgery was certainly physically painful once the nerve block wore off, but I wasn't really that miserable necessarily. In fact, I'd even say I was relieved and quite optimistic. Really getting over the hump of surgery and knowing the worst part was over was great. I had a nice dinner with my Mom post surgery and basically spent the evening relaxed with friends checking in on me. That night I was in absolutely no pain. Nor any ill effects from the anesthesia. I did take one of each of the pain pills to make sure I could tolerate the medicines, but really I was fine. Even the next day was fine as well. I in fact still had the catheters from the nerve blocks inside my leg and was receiving numbing medication on the hour. I was resting, and again relieved to have the worst part over and be officially on the mend.

Life was fine. Until suddenly the nerve block had completely worn off. Then YIKES. Wednesday night. The pain caught me off guard. I think mainly it was caused by the large amount of swelling my leg had undergone. I wanted to rip off the splint. I started to take the oxycodone, something I had hoped to avoid. But I needed it. It felt like it barely helped at all. I tried to increase the numbing medication given by the nerve block pump, but that seemed to not work at all. I did NOT sleep that night. I told myself it was acute pain, but if I needed to, I could tough it out for the 2-3 days post surgery that the swelling was the worst. 

Then I thought better of it in the morning and called the clinic. Glad I did. They told me there was no problem in doubling the dose of the oxycodone. They immediately put in a prescription refill to the pharmacy and told me to contact them if I still had pain. I took the double dose, and it helped immensly. Not in the same manner as the nerve block, but more of a general pain relief. Also, very helpfully, the nurse mentioned that in addition to elevating my leg I should ice UNDER the knee. Brilliant, why hadn't I thought of this? I also spoke with the anesthesiologist about the nerve block, but still was unable to get the extra dose working. While I hated taking more pain medication, I was really glad I did. I needed it. I had another episode of pain that Friday night when I woke up from sleep after having unintentionally gotten into a very bad and painful position with my leg. Again, very glad I had the pain medication. And to be honest the knowledge of icing under your knee to relieve pain and swelling in lower extremities.

After those two initial pain episodes, the swelling GREATLY subsided. And thus followed the pain. I was able to stop taking the pain killers all together and go to a simple regimen of 2 tylenol. This was also a huge step in the progress to healing. Worst is over, and pain is 100% manageable? SUHWEET. I'm good right? Just a waiting process now. The weekend ended just fine, and I approached what would be my first full week back at work. I was optimistic.

The first week "back" was horrible.

The pain itself was very very manageable and nearly gone even save for some mild soreness and occasional bone aching. But the REALITY and the MAGNITUDE of the whole situation had finally begun to settle in. Up until this point times were trying and there was pain, but there was always sort of a clear "next step". Call for help to get rescued, make your way home, figure out surgery logistics, etc. These tasks I think are necessary in helping our spirits pass through a traumatic situation. Something objective to do to improve your situation. But once these are finished, your mind no longer has something to keep it very grounded and if you're not careful you can be swept off to a dark place.

So I was able to get back to work and be productive during the week. I was able to have all necessary food and supplies delivered to me. By all logistical means I was set. The problem was, my sort of "coping" and "happiness" mechanisms had completely gone by the wayside for the time being. 

I began running competitively when I joined Capital Crew at age 14. Since that fall, I have averaged running between 2 and 3 times a week. Sometimes more as when I was training for an event, sometimes less when I was not taking a very strict schedule for my running, nevertheless I found myself more often than not getting in 3 runs a week. Running has always been a bit of a love and hate relationship for me. I certainly don't have type I fun while running, but I LOVE the relief and focus I feel after a good run. It keeps me happy.

Furthermore, I have been able to cope during our shelter in place orders by driving out to a spot with good wifi and working from my truck for a few hours until my laptop battery wears out. This helps me feel like I'm out of my place, get a change of scenery, and set up a few walls between my personal and working life.

I cannot weight-bear on my right foot for the time being, and as such I cannot drive. Also ambulating is somewhat difficult in crutches, so I'm not able to crutch a long distance. I end up spending my recovering days generally enitrely in my place. This is HARD.

I feel very fotunate I was treated by Dr. Chou and the Stanford medical team. I also feel very fortunate I only broke one bone in my ankle: the medial malleolus. Finally, I am very fortunate the post surgery x ray showed good alignment and that my ankle mortise was never lost. Nevertheless, I am certainly not going to be running for many months. I may also have to face the painful fact that I will not be running after many months, too. If it will ever be such a regular part of my routine again. I don't know what the prognosis is yet, but I will know more at my follow up visit. This has been REALLY hard for me to process and the source of a lot of frustration.

But, I believe in ending this entry with a positive note. I am in the process of learning how to cope. So far I have found that a few things help me greatly. Reminding myself the situation is TEMPORARY. That I will heal. Keeping a countdown of days until the next milestone: in this case my follow up visit. Treating myself with little things like a light to make reading easier when I don't want to get up. Trying more positive acts when I feel the worst like exercising upper body only and writing postcards encouraging people to vote. But there is one great area of help in coping that is undeniably necessary.

People.

It's tough to be dependent on people to help you out, but it is great if you have people in your life that do help you out. From my family and Dr. Ford checking in on me to my friends being there to talk, give me rides, and hang out distanced, there is hope for pulling through even the toughest times.

Surgery

 The first two entries of the "ankle saga" are reasonably... action packed? and I might even risk boasting, entertaining? If not entertaining, I'm certainly happy to go back and add some extra details like how I was armed with an AK-47 and given classified information upon my helicopter rescue. This might get a bit weirder and drawn out. Sorry in advance!

I'm pretty sure I was on an adrenaline high through the events occuring between my fall and return home. I tried not too think about the craziness of getting hoisted into a helicopter or going in my first ambulance ride or the fact that I had shattered my medial malleolus. I tried to just focus on getting home safely and then immediately to contact my family to let them know I was okay and my primary care physician to figure out the next steps. Returning to safety was important. And then, after all that, I realized I was very VERY tired.

And the next few days were tough, but not unbearable. Reality was starting to settle in. Fortunately, I had a lot of support from my group of friends. And my primary care physician, Dr. Ford. My friend Cheryl came over the next day to check on me and brought me copius amounts of alcohol. Dr. Ford set me up with the orthopedic surgeon referal. My friend Annie bought lunch delivered to me. I was in reasonable spirits. My coworkers checked in on me and we made plans to offload any work I would need to, although I ended up not needing to. I did my best to focus on handling all work I needed to, setting up temporarily disabled person logistics for getting food and supplies, and preparing for the Friday appointment with Dr. Oji. Other than that, I slept, a LOT.

On Friday I ubered myself over to Dr. Oji's clinic. I basically had done my homework and expected to hear that I would need surgery. I also expected my surgery to be the "open reduction internal fixation" surgery, that is, adding a plate and screws to ensure the ankle bones heal properly. A quick aside: I may have not mentioned this much yet, but at every clinic and hospital I visited Covid precautions were HEAVILY followed. 

I had more X-rays taken, and consulted with Dr. Oji. Sure enough, he concluded I was in need of the surgery to avoid any malunion healings or arthritis down the road. I was not shocked, but accepting, though mildly nervous. I was told I would be contacted by Dr. Loretta Chou, and took an uber back home. Another quick aside: the AQI these days was somewhere near 200 due to even newer forest fires. Dr. Chou contacted me and we set up the surgery for the next Tuesday. I was relieved that the plan was in place, though naturally a bit apprehensive.

The weekend was actually fine, more or less uneventful. I picked up my post surgery prescriptions, did some socially distanced game watching at a friend's, and did my best to make surgery day plans. My mom offered to come give me a ride home from surgery, but we of course had to handle the necessary preparations given the danger of Covid to her. And this was stressful. Ultimately when Sunday night rolled around, the nerves crept in and I found myself very anxious. My plans for Monday and Tuesday were not yet set. I did not sleep much Sunday night at all.

On Monday I got up per usual to begin work, but then had to leave a Zoom meeting early to handle a call from the hospital. The hospital told me I had to schedule an immediate Covid test by THREE PM that afternoon in order to have my surgery the next day. WHUTTT!!!! As I would find out later, they had left me voicemails but my OLD phone did not pick them up. One I reactivated after I had lost my new phone. I panicked. I had no ride to get a Covid test. Furthermore, drive through Covid tests were not happening that day again due to the horrible air quality. 2020 to the max. THANKFULLY, my friend Walter came to the rescue, switched up a few meetings, and gave me an emergency ride to the Covid test site. 

Upon arriving at the site, I was a little disturbed to discover that the line for the test was LONG and extending outside. I was in no condition to hobble around on crutches for half an hour! Fortunately, the nurses saw my condition and were kind enough to perform the test while I waited in Walter's van. They also realized I had a medical rush test due to next day surgery. Phew. 

Next task to kill was the pre-operation meeting, which was done over a Zoom like client due to Covid concerns. I was nervous for this meeting, but fortunately the nurse was very friendly and handled all my worries. And finally, one last medication pick up was needed. A ride was supplied by none other than Dr. Ford, who basically is the best hands down physician ever. Afterwards, I made contact with my Mom, who had arrived in her motel. And the ONE SINGLE SILVER LINING OF 2020: my covid test had returned negative. So I could actually spend some time with my Mom for the first time since our distanced lunch, and the first real indoors time since Christmas 2019. After all that, my surgery plan was finally in place, and I slept well Monday Night.

I was nervous Tuesday morning, but I knew I was in good hands, that my friend Sha Sha's friend Buddy had had the same surgeon ten years ago, and that it was absolutely the right call to go through with it for the future of my ankle. So Matt, cowboy up time. Showed up at the outpatient surgery center, performed the necessary paperwork, had my vitals taken, and found myself chilling in the hospital bed. Somewhat lonely because no family was allowed in the clinic due to Covid. I mean, I kept both my parents company for their major surgeries and visited my brother and his wife after their first baby was born. I thought surgeries and like a close family member are like peanut butter and jelly ?!?!? 

I believe I was nervous right up until the anesthesia team installed a nerve block on my lower right leg. They seemed like a kind of unusually sadistic bunch, almost taking pleasure in mentioning that ankle surgery is one of the most painful kinds there is, nevertheless they took good care of me. I made an off hand comment asking if the block added a dose of epinepherine, similar to the dentists' common mix of lidocaine and epinepherine during dental work, and mildly impressed one anesthesiologist. I got to mention my side project work (www.organicchemmaster.com) and my heavy interest in synthetic pathways of organic molecules. The other anesthesiologist FLOORED me however, when we broached the subject of running and I learned he had qualified for the Boston Marathon. I congratulated him on breaking 3 hours only to find out his qualifying time was actually 2:37. WOW. 

And, after they ran a few stimulus tests on my lower leg, I was convinced the block was fine. I'd been given a bit of anesthesia at the time too, so I was more relaxed. At some point I dozed off, woke up with a splint around my leg, and I was very relieved the worst part was over. I spent the evening having dinner with my Mom, and felt absolutely no pain. Furthermore since I did not require heavy general anesthesia due to the nerve block, neither did I have any lingering nausea. I relaxed. The worst was over, and for now I was on the mend.

Ankle Rescue

Again, figuring that shouting for help was my best bet as mountain weather can very suddenly take a turn for the worse, I shouted "HELP" for approximately 15 minutes or so. I was fortunate I have a rather booming voice and there were plenty of natural canyons in Desolation Wilderness to provide echo and reverberation effects. I imagined a hiker/camper would at first hear my shouts and not take them too seriously, or rather see the situation as a curiosity, but ultimately with enough repetition would realize I was in a serious situation. This is kind of the way human nature is when presented with a new situation I find. So the repetition was certainly important. I even threw in a few "911" and "SOS" yells in there. Then. I heard a few responses along the lines of "Hello" and "Where are you". To which I replied "California!". No I didn't. But I was encouraged.

A few more minutes of shouting back and forth eventually had me hearing, in the distance, "We have called 911". A few more minutes and I finally saw hope: three hikers about 1000ft elevation below me. They had not yet seen me, so I shouted that I was at about 9000ft elevation and signaled with my head lamp towards them. This helped them see me. We made eye contact, albeit from about a quarter mile apart. FINALLY, I was able to breathe a sigh of relief. 

I at first thought the three hikers might be paramedics, but I soon realized they were instead just some pretty awesome late teenage dudes. I say this because I heard some moderate swearing at each others' expense about what to do and not a lot of sound technical advice ;) But they had hearts of gold and assured me they would stay near until I was rescued. They then assured me a helicopter was on the way and only an hour and a half away. Again, more sighs of relief. Followed by some mild qualms of where said helicopter might actually land near me; it was quite rocky. Well, I imagined even in my situation I could crawl eventually to a helicopter.

Some 5 minutes later, to my surprise, a helicopter flew by. I aided them by signaling again with my headlamp and waving my arms. They shouted at me through a loud speaker to waive my arms if I was injured, so I did. They then assured me they would return shortly to help. And they did, some 10 minutes later. The three dudes were STILL waiting. If I ever get their info I would really want to reward them with at least some GCs or something. Again, another sigh of relief when the helicopter returned.

And then the helicopter flew towards me. I thought, "For sure it won't land all the way up here!" And to my surprise, a young woman dropped out of the helicopter attached to a cable. Then it hit me, "OHHHHHHH. I'm getting pulled up into the helicopter." Wow. Yikes. The woman, named Rita, aided me in putting on a harness and took my day pack after asking if I needed anything from it first, to which I replied, "no". I should have said "yes, my wallet". She explained I couldn't wear the pack while being hoisted up. She then instructed me to grab on to the handles of the harness and pull myself in a ball. WHEEE!

Don't think Matt. Don't think. Just do it. I used to be frightened of even 1 hour domestic flights. Getting pulled up into a helicopter was brand new territory. But the hoist was pretty seamless. I made it to the top and then got dumped in the cabin as the helicopter tilted the other direction. Greg and Kevin I believe were the pilots. Greg offered me water. I was scared crapless that I would fall out of the helicopter so I hung on to every last bit of scaffolding in the cabin I could find (even well after the door closed.) Greg explained we would fly to South Tahoe airport where I would then be transferred by ambulance to the hospital. Cool. I mean I was not in pain and pretty stoked to be out of danger, so yeah. 

Kinda chilled at the airport for a while as the ambulance had not yet arrived and there was another trauma that needed a medi evac. Triage wise, a painless broken ankle is nothing. So, was pretty fine with that time. Chatted with Greg and Kevin, thanked them, watched the chopper get refueled, and eventually was escorted to the ambulance gurney. Took a nice uneventful ride to the hospital. Chatted it up with the EMT who happened to also be a scorpio. She offered a bag of ice for my ankle and I figured I didn't need it. I told her my pain level was probably a 1. We arrived at the ER and I was put in an exam room. The transfer to the hospital bed was PAINFUL due to my sore back.

I was checked on by nurses and eventually the ER Doctor. After a negative exam of all other parts of my body, he decided the only serious concern was my ankle and ordered an X-ray. The result was a fracture (a comminuted medial malleolas fracture to be precise). Part of me went oh shit broken ankles suck and part of me was relieved I didn't cause all this fuss for a simple sprain. He told me I would be released, set me up with a walking boot and crutches, and said that I should consult an orthopedic surgeon as soon as I returned home. Okay, NOT BAD! But wait, I don't have a wallet, don't have a phone, and have no food/water/extra layers because they were in my pack. Yeah. I'm stranded.

Fortunately, the lovely Barton hospital staff came to my rescue and set me up with a care package of blankets, food, water, and a free taxi voucher back to my truck. The plan was to sleep in my truck for the night, get my day pack from the ranger in the morning, and then drive home. Kinda worried about this? Driving on my broken foot? But, the plan was in place. I called my Mom with the idea of reassuring my family I was okay. This instead led to a panic, but I assuaged their worries the next day. I made it to the taxi, slept, and somewhat gingerly drove back on the broken foot. I was safe again at home.

Ankle Injury

To be honest, as I write this post, I'm not even sure if/when I will feel like publishing it. It's pretty painfully fresh in my mind and I'm still processing what has happened. And, at the same time, I do want to share the experience to sort of help me process it. So, this blog (as opposed to maybe a lighter facebook post) seems appropriate. Plus I'm only worried about thoroughly embarrassing myself in front of my devoted reader base of one. So maybe this post will show up soon, maybe later, maybe it will be taken down and reposted, I don't know! 

So here it goes. 

September 4: Excited. Had been toying around with exactly which mountain/peak I would climb or which trail I would hike for the past few days. Since Shelter In Place had begun in March, I had not set foot outside of the Bay Area. The most adventurous I had been was hiking in Mission Peak prior to the Wildfires and having a socially distanced picnic/walk with my Mom in Martinez. But now we were kicking off Labor Day weekend. The Bay Area air quality was horrible as were the nearby surrounding areas. I was absolutely DYING to go on SOME kind of a road trip to some place new and have an adventure. Pyramid Peak had been on the list as a goal for a while, especially since I was looking more for class 2/3 scrambles; mountains that would add an element of challenge to your normal hike by requiring some climbing moves with your hands. I first set on Pyramid Peak as a goal with a friend, but then after discussing with my Dad decided to switch to a bit more moderate of a climb for Mt. Price. The trip was a bit touch and go for a while as my friend and I were unsure of the AQI in nearby Strawberry (our closest reference), nevertheless I did fully prepare to get up early Saturday morning and drive out. 

September 5: Wake up early to check AQI and weather forecast. We're looking at about 75 AQI in Strawberry and highs of low 90s. Not ideal.... but good enough. I'm stoked. Unfortunately, my friend decides she's out, but I've waited so long for an adventure I decide to go anyway! There is of course inherent risk in hiking/scrambling alone, but I'm confident that I'm prepared by having shared my itinerary with my Dad beforehand and that I have all 10 essentials in my pack. Get on the road at 8am, quick bite and coffee on my way up and I'm at the trailhead.

I hike from Wright's Lake Trail head out to Smith Lake on a very steady trail. Am a bit miffed I had to hike an extra half mile or so due to lack of parking spots, but meh. Excited to be out. Some minor bouldering along well marked cairns to make my way up to Smith lake, and then a quick lunch rest. Afterwards the "scrambling" portion of the climb began in earnest. I checked my map and decided I would continue up in an approximately NW fashion to gain the next ridge. There were a few ways to make it to Price, and I figured this way looked reasonable and would save me from having to traverse the perimeter of Smith Lake. The going was slow and many rests were taken, but I did gain the ridge. At that point I rechecked my map to decide where I would head next, which I figured was a NE direction along the ridge to a peak I imagined would be Price. 

As I approached the next peak, it became pretty obvious to me that the peak was not in fact Price at all, but just an intermediate peak. I decided at that point, that I would be satisfied gaining only that peak, as it offered beautiful views and it was getting somewhat late (about 4:30 pm.) I summited the intermediate peak, took a panaroma video and a few other shots with my brand new phone, and planned the trip back. I descended the peak and made for the same ridge I had ascended earlier. I began back on my path towards Smith Lake, trying to choose the safest way back. And then...

Without a warning I found myself falling. I don't know if my foot slipped, or I lost a handhold, or what. But I knew I was falling and shortly thereafter I hit something on my right side. I expected of course what I had hit to stop me from falling. That that would be it, a couple bruises, no more. Instead, I found myself falling even further. This feeling was freaky. My immediate panic was that if I had not stopped falling after the first thing I hit, why would the second one stop me. I mean you gain speed falling down. Fortunately, my fate was to stop falling after the second "leg" of the stumble. Luckily.

And there I was. I knew I had fallen and was likely hurt, but I did not know how severely. I told myself the best thing to do would be to take a few deep breaths, relax for a moment, and then try to assess myself and figure out a plan. So I did that. My back was sore, but not sharply painful. I had a few bumps and bruises on my face, hands and hip, but I did not seem to be profusely bleeding. Then I looked at my right ankle. The inner bone of the ankle looked crooked and out of place. I was not in severe pain, so my first thought was, "Oh this must be one of those situations where it's broken but doesn't hurt that much surprisingly." Probably because I had recently read "Touching The Void" describing Joe Simpson's catastrophic leg break and subsequent fall into a crevasse. 

My second thought, also stemming from the frightening recall of Joe Simpson's Peru mountain climbing accident was, "Someone with a broken leg/foot/ankle is as good as dead in the mountains". Fortunately, I convinced myself I was overthinking that as a balmy day with highs in the 90s in a snowless desolation wilderness with many hikers nearby would be far more survivable than a remote ice-laden mountain face in Peru.

I also took inventory of my gear. Apparently, in the fall, I had lost my map and 5 day old phone from my shorts pocket. Also my sunglasses were broken and my hat lost to the ages. But everything in my pack had been retained. It was now time to "cowboy" up. To figure out what I needed to do to get back to safety. Basically I figured, force yourself not to freak out now, there's plenty of time for that later (basically what I'm doing with the blog writing). 

My first thought was to see if my ankle was indeed broken and how weight-bearing it would be. I attempted to stand up and found I could put my weight on the right foot, but as soon as I twisted it slightly I felt excrutiating pain and fell back down. Broken. I then thought to use the first-aid technique of immobilization and took a spare fleece out of my pack to wrap tightly around my ankle. This did provide support and I was able to take a few more steps before experiencing the same excrutiating pain as before and ultimately falling back down. At this point I had to make a decision. If ABSOLUTELY necessary, I imagined I could crawl and drag myself back down the scrambling portion of the climb to a trail. However, this would GREATLY delay my return to safety and might injure my ankle further. So instead, I imagined that I would be within shouting range of other hikers/campers and began shouting for help.