Hi gang,Well, it's been a busy, busy year since my last post, and I need to make more of a concerted effort to tend to my blogs! In less than a month, I'll celebrate the first anniversary of the little "fluff and buff" I had on my right hip, which was necessity by 40-plus years of abuse on the ice and on the soccer fields. Little did I know, at the time, that the hip arthroscopy I had done a week before my 53rd birthday would force me to take a long, hard look at my Peter Pan lifestyle of playing sports into my second half-century.
I've always bounced back from surgery, starting with work on my lower legs (both) to relieve pressure from severe shin splints in college -- which spelled the end to my budding soccer career -- to more recent 'scopes on my knees. The hip work, however, proved to be considerably more daunting. Arthritis is like that. The surgeons can shave bone and repair torn labrums and clean up the frayed cartilege (which, I might add, was plentiful in the ol' hip joint), but there was no miracle cure for the arthritis. So I'm left with a small section of the hip that's bone-on-bone, facing the prospect of hip replacement somewhere down the road, and the very real possibility that my days of playing goalie might be over (the accompanying photo was taken in the spring of 2008, shortly after my team got spanked at a tournament at Lake Placid).
All of which got me thinking about a post I penned a couple of years ago about my brother Chris, and his decision to call it quits from competitive hockey ("competitive" in the most generous sense of the word) after another tournament in Lake Placid the following year. In the true spirit of denial, I revisit that post fairly regularly. In a weird way, it helps me to stay focused on my rehab, now going on 12 months and counting. It gets me worked up into a lather about how I won't give in to Father Time, how I'll keep tilting at windmills. Sure, I don't like my odds. But I've never been much of a betting man. And as long as there's hope ...
Hanging them up ...
May 17, 2009
Boston, late evening
I had a bad feeling the moment the email downloaded on my Outlook Express. The sender was my brother, Chris, and the subject line simply read: "Hanging 'em up ..."
I didn't want to open the email, to be perfectly honest. Chris is my younger brother, by 16 months, and we'd just spent a tremendous weekend playing hockey together at Lake Placid. True, our team didn't record a single win (or a single goal, for that matter), but being on the ice with my brother was a real treat for me. I'm one of six siblings, including five boys. Yet, due to myriad circumstances, we didn't get many opportunities to play alongside each other after elementary school, though most of us continued to pursue sports.
Later in life, after my older brother Sean became an accomplished orthopaedic surgeon, our gang of old jocks would joke that our family alone would ensure him a steady practice. And Chris certainly had his share of injuries. He suffered back problems as a kid, and blew up one of his knees playing indoor soccer in college. Recently, there were knee and elbow issues (admittedly, the injury roll-call becomes a blur after a while). But if anyone could overcome an injury, it was Chris.
The guy is built like a tank, and (unlike me) has a real focus and commitment to weight-training and stretching routines. During our old-timer hockey weekend, I marveled at his adherence to his pre-game stretching ritual. Me? I pre-medicated with a 800 mg of Ibuprofen and hoped for the best. Chris was one of the best players on our team that weekend (though I'm afraid I'm damning him with faint praise, given our miserable showing), and on the long drive home we talked about getting together to play again soon. Maybe even another tournament. That's why his email took me aback.
Chris was actually writing to a guy who runs a local pick-up skate, and he had blind Cc:'d me on it. The note was brief and to the point: "Several weeks ago in one of our Monday night skates I collided hard with one of my team mates and hurt my left shoulder. The shoulder won't need surgery but I've decided it's time for me to hang up the skates. One too many sports related injuries over the years, I guess."
I knew about the shoulder injury, but thought it was, at worst, a minor hindrance. That's either a testament to my brother's toughness, or my own willingness to ignore the severity of any injury. Maybe both. Regardless, I'm hoping this is only a temporary setback (I fired a quick reply, asking: "You sure?"), and not permanent. I can't imagine that Chris has played his last hockey game. Otherwise, I'd have to acknowledge that I might be one step closer to calling it quits.
Which brings me back to Lake Placid. We had two pairs of father-son tandems on our squad, and each had the tournament photographer take a separate photo of them after the team photo was taken. I briefly considered having him snap a photo of Chris and myself, but then thought; "Nah, we'll have plenty more opportunities." Little did I know. These moments are fleeting. That's probably why they're so special to us. Enjoy them.
Best,
-Brion
