Z Brunch

One of the most frequently asked questions I get is, "Are you still playing roller derby?" (Other variations include, "Do you still rollerblade?")

I refereed for the past couple of years, but no, I don't really play anymore. I do, however, keep up with my Z-Girls. A lot of us became refs, and a handful of us still meet for drinks at the Cove on Tuesday nights. I often skate on the greenline with my old coach, and friend, Natalie. And last Sunday, almost all of us met up for brunch at Bardog.


I have to say that you'd have to look pretty hard to find a finer bunch of women. We had a great time catching up and the funniest part is that I don't think that we even mentioned roller derby once!

Okay, the funniest part may have been when the manager offered us all a free shot and we declined! (Okay all but two of us.) Then he offered free dessert and we had to really think hard before deciding to split just a few.

Our old motto was "Fast and hard!" Now it's more like "Slow and steady," but I'll take it.

Derby Family Action (No, Not Mine)

Check out my story on one of the most awesome derby families around in today's CA. (And check out Brandon Dill's amazing pictures!)

Family's togetherness is on track in rough-and-tumble roller derby...

Retired

So, last week, with very little fanfare, I retired from the roller derby. I am now officially a member of the XZ Society.

But WHY?

Roller derby is hard on the body. Prior to breaking my leg, I had a stress fracture in my foot and the beginnings of some very serious back pain. (In fact, I was scheduled to have back surgery on December 20, 2006, but canceled it after having a 12 inch steel rod pounded into my shin bone on December 10, 2006.) After getting my leg back in shape, my back pain started in full force. If it weren't for Machine Gun Kelly's magic hands I never would have been able to skate in our last two bouts.

Roller derby takes up a lot of time. There are practices, bouts, meetings, cleanings, emails, committees, etc. Frankly, with all of my other activities, it was getting a little hard to keep up with everything. Now that we are at the fairgrounds, it's all us. We have to clean the floors, mop the bathrooms, set up the bleachers, you name it. Bout set up went from 4 hours at Funquest to 4 DAYS at the fairgrounds.

Roller derby is serious business. As in the skaters actually OWN the business. Sixty women own a business that requires them to regularly beat the shit out of each other for fame and glory in front of hundreds of people. The women who do this the best inevitably end up in the power positions regardless of actual business experience. It's probably the strangest business model ever.

Roller derby gets old. Satchel and Jiro went from, "Can we come with you??" every time I mentioned skating to "You are always at the roller derby! I HATE the roller derby!" Ahhh...that just makes a mom feel GREAT.

I had a good run. Joining the roller derby helped me remember who I was after four straight years of immersing myself in motherhood. It also got me off of the sofa and back in shape. (For the most part.) Best of all, it allowed me to meet some of the most awesome women ever and form some much needed friendships.

So thank you Memphis Roller Derby, and especially you, Z-Girls. I look forward to cheering you on, seeing you at free skates, and running into you at the grocery store, the park, on the street, and, of course, in bars!

I must also thank Warren and my mom for making it possible for me to attend two practices a week, sometimes more, for the past two years. I couldn't have done it without you!

In parting, I leave you with a few scenes from this year's Red Dress Party, held at Tsunami last week, at which the Z-Girls celebrated their achievements and their friendship.


Created with Admarket's flickrSLiDR.

I looked back at the photos from last year's Red Dress Party and it is amazing how much changed in 9 months!! Skaters came and went, joined different teams, shacked up, got married...you name it. I can't wait to see what the future holds for the Z.

Clean Up at the Fairgrounds

Tonight, the Memphis Roller Derby officially moved to Memphis! The skaters along with coaches, refs, volunteers, family, and friends descended upon the Youth Building with cleaners, scrapers, brooms, and pizza for a cleaning party.

I only have one thing to say. When you come to watch us play on March 1st, spit out your gum BEFORE you come in!


Created with Admarket's flickrSLiDR.

Sciatica

Yesterday while bagging up leaves, I felt a pop and then a sharp shooting pain all down my left side. I stood moaning until Warren came to my rescue. He helped me inside and I laid down on the bed.

For twenty hours.

WTF?

I actually wished for a small second that I still had my walker.

I've had back problems in the past--specifically in my SI joints--but since I've started skating in the opposite direction at each practice, I haven't had any major issues. My dad suffered with back problems his whole life and both of my sisters have had episodes like I described above.

I am feel a lot better today. The pain has localized to my hip and is manageable with a small heating pad sticky thing and ibuprofen. I've been trying to figure out what brought this on. I can only guess it was roller derby. Last Sunday I took two hard falls at practice, both right on my ass.



I missed practice today, which sucks since Santa brought me some new skates.

I'm trying not to feel like an old lady.

Back in the Saddle Again

Thanks to my "handler," Angelina Rolie, who basically babysat me in the days leading up to the bout, I arrived at FunQuest almost calm.

There were a few times that I almost teared up--like when Moxie Dynamite (now just a fan) came up and gave me a hug and a "go get 'em!" just before we were introduced--but I held it together.

A teammate of mine told me in the "locker room" that if anyone tried to hurt me she would immediately jump off the bench and beat the hell out of them! And I believed her! Even though she wasn't skating that night, I totally felt like she had my back and it made all the difference.

It also helped that a lot of my friends and family--even a coworker or two--came out to cheer me on.

I was playing second string, every third jam. I kept telling myself, "It's just two minutes, you can do it!" As predicted, I had a hard time keeping up with the pack, but I still got in a few hits. I took my first ever trip to the penalty box!

I also took a few good hits. Lyndalicious--who had sworn she wouldn't try and kill me--sent me flying into the concession stand with one of her blocks! It made me a little mad, but it was nice to be able to take what she was dishing out!

I only got knocked down one time--I think Shawty got me--and it was RIGHT in front of my little cheering section. Mid fall I told myself, "You are getting right back up!" and I did, just as fast as I could.

Overall I feel really good about facing my fears and getting back out there. I held back a little and spent more time looking over my shoulder than kicking ass, but all in all, I did GOOD!

I'm over the proverbial hump, and am looking forward to being a contender!

For a recap of the bouts, visit www.memphisrollerderby.com

D-Day

Saturday, December 1st is the opening bout of Memphis Roller Derby's second season and I am playing!!!

It will almost be a year to the day (give or take 9 days) that I broke my leg. We are playing the same team (although some of the players have changed), the PrissKilla Prezleys.

To say that I am freaking out would be an understatement.

Today I sent an email to my co-worker who is a big MRD fan and asked if he and his buddies would donate some sick days to me should I end up in the hospital again. He replied, "Between me and P, we've got ten for you."

I'm not just worried about getting hurt. I'm worried about sucking. The fear of getting hurt severely hinders the "take no prisoners" mentality I once had on the track, which in turn makes me kind of suck. Well that and the fact that I could be in better shape, I could use a LOT more practice, and my leg still feels achy breaky.

My plan is to just get back out there and do the best I can. It may not be pretty--I might foul out immediately or be sucking wind twenty feet behind the pack--but I'll be out there.

Even if I just play in one jam, I will consider it a success.

If you want to come out and cheer me on, that would be awesome. Adult tickets are $12, kids 5 and up are $6, and kids under 4 are free. We're playing first--6:30pm.

Also if you know anyone who does magikal protection spells, let me know!

Z-Girl Red Dress Party

Last night the Z-Girls and their dates celebrated their second place finish at Tsunami. It was dubbed the Red Dress party for obvious reasons. We had a private room at the restaurant and the food was amazing. Whorecules passed out awards on behalf of the coaching staff. Our waiter took a group picture before everyone went their separate ways around 11pm. About half of us went to Dish to continue the celebrations.


Created with Admarket's flickrSLiDR.

Where I'm At

I knew that as soon as I posted the bout information, the emails would start pouring in. “Are you playing?” everyone wants to know.

No, I’m not playing.

I had really hoped that I would be back to face the PrissKilla Prezleys last month. I was suited up and ready to go should the Zs need me, but luckily they didn’t. From the first whistle, the Z-Girls played fast and hard—faster and harder than I ever played—and didn’t quit until we beat the PKPs forty minutes later.

I had tears in my eyes when the final whistle blew. The Zs had come from behind to pull out a 15 point win in the last five minutes of the game. I grabbed our flag from Z-Boy, our cheerleader, and skated several victory laps around the track with a big ol’ grin on my face. I even pounded my fists in the air. I gave every Z-Girl a big kiss and basked in their glory. I had been avenged!

The victory was bittersweet. We won, but I wasn’t really a part of that “we.” I started wondering if the Z-girls really needed me anymore. I like to think that at the time that I got injured, I was a pretty good player. In the seven months that I’ve been out, a lot has happened. The girls have had lots and lots of practice and have really stepped it up. That’s great for them, but not for me. When I get back on the track I have to be twice as good as I was before.

Which is proving to be difficult.

My left calf muscle still isn’t as big as my right one. I avoid doing crossovers. When I do blocking drills, I have to focus 100% so that I don’t lose my balance. When I scrimmage—which I also seem to avoid—I get a little freaked. The first time I ended up hiding in the bathroom so I could cry. My speed isn’t what it used to be thanks to my fear of crossovers. I used to always finish the pyramid of pain first or second. Now I’m last. Or next to last. When practice is over I am pretty much spent and my leg aches. A lot. Sometimes I even limp. I often picture myself on a stretcher. It sucks.

While I’m not ready to get back on the track, I’m not ready to quit either. I just need a lot more time than I originally planned on. I let a knee injury (torn ACL) end my fifteen year soccer career. I’m not going to let a metal rod in my tibia end my derby days. I'm just not.

But I have to be smart. I have to wait until I am strong and I have my head in the game. I can get there. I just don’t know how soon.

Pretend like I’m due to give birth any day and you really want to call and ask, “Did you have that baby yet?” but you know it would be obnoxious so you don’t. That’s where I’m at.

I’m in labor.

Only this time I’m not squatting on my bedroom floor, letting out primal screams, or demanding that someone blow up the birthing tub. I’m in quads and a silver skirt.

Updatey-like

So I turned 35 last week. With everything going on, I didn’t have any grand plans to celebrate other than lunching with my twin sister and mom. We were on our way to the Flying Fish when we noticed that E.P. Delta Kitchen was now open for lunch. So we went there instead and had a very nice meal. A little too nice. We were all so stuffed, we had to take a little walk. My sister mentioned seeing a story on the new Westin hotel on Beale and before we knew it, a nice young man named Chris was giving us a tour of the hotel’s extra tall top floor, designed especially for NBA players. (My mom kept lamenting about those “poor guys” who had to duck every time they entered a room at a normal hotel.) The hotel was really just lovely. I hope that I someday have a reason (and the money) to stay there!

The festivities continued with an impromptu monkey convergence (attended by nearly my entire blogroll!) at the Memphis Pizza Café followed by a visit to Peabody Park to eat homemade cupcakes (thanks Warren!) and watch some Dodge Ball. (I think I had almost everyone who wasn’t pregnant or of the cheerleading variety convinced to start a midtown parent blogger team and was devastated to learn that the league will be playing out East next season! First Roller Derby, now Dodge Ball. Wtf?)

***

Thanks to everyone who came to the bout on Saturday! The Z-Girls got spanked a little (okay 75 points) by the Angels of Death, but considering they have the fastest jammer and scariest blockers in (possibly) the entire country, the score wasn’t that bad!

The interesting thing about Saturday night was the fact that my stomach was in absolute knots. I started having severe shooting pains and was convinced that I had food poisoning. The only problem was that I was so nervous/excited all day, I hadn’t really eaten anything that could poison me.

When the bout was over, I made Warren follow me home down Poplar because I was scared I wouldn’t make it all the way home without vomiting, passing out, or worse. As I drove past the E.R. at Collierville Baptist, I started wondering if my severe stomach pain might be psycho-somatic. Our team’s “dugout” was on the same side of the rink as it was on December 10th, when I got hurt. And right next to our dugout was a giant stretcher and three EMTs.

I took a few deep breaths and tried to let go of the fear. I told myself that I was going to be okay and then focused on the fact that the monkeys were at my mom’s house and there was an after-party at Dish. (Going home with a stomach-ache would have been a huge waste of a babysitter!) By the time I got to Poplar and I-240, my stomach was back to normal. I called Warren and said, “I’m going to take Sam Cooper to the house and change into some jeans. Let’s get in one car and go to the party.”

***

The next birthday is Satchel’s this Saturday. Since no one has scooped up that amazing house on Court Avenue, I thought it would be nice to let Satchel have a friend spend the night rather than throw a big party. Somehow the one friend became three…and then four…and now five. Five! Warren rationalized it by pointing out that at a certain point the numbers become meaningless. (Yes, this is a set up for RJA’s comment…) I rationalized it by thinking of it as one child for every year of Satchel’s life.

I told Satchel that he had to decide by yesterday evening who he wanted and that he absolutely, positively could not change his mind. (Once the number of friends was upped to five, this task became much easier.) The finalists are: Miles, Jack, Kai, JP, and Stella.

Yes, a girl. I had seen this coming as Satchel (quite the ladies’ man) tossed out the idea of a slumber party with both Stella and Piper not too long ago. I wasn’t sure how Stella’s parents would react to an invite to Satchel’s slumber party, but considering Stella’s mom is in the Roller Derby with me and her dad works at the school, I figured the odds were in my favor.

I ran into Stella and her dad this morning and posed the question. Mr. Paul grinned a little, asked Stella if she wanted to go (she nodded), and gave it the okay. Then he said, “That’s funny because Stella’s birthday is tomorrow and she wants to have a slumber party too. I told her all girls, but maybe I should rethink it. I know she’d love to have Satchel over.”

I tried picturing Satchel as the only boy at Stella’s slumber party, but had to stop, suddenly wondering what I might be getting myself into. I’ll let you know!

***

Warren took Jiro in to get his cast off this morning. He reported that Jiro was fitted for a boot (exactly like mine) since he refused to walk, but chances are he won’t need it by tomorrow once his leg loosens up and adjusts to its freedom.
I can’t wait to see him.

American Appalled

I am generally not a big fan of American Apparel. For the most part, I think their sizing is crazy small. And there's always those pesky sexual harrassment rumors.

BUT it seems like I've had to take one for the team, the Legion of Zoom that is. American Apparel has just the right shade of red shirts and blue bottoms, not to mention sparkly underthings and stripey socks, that every Z-Girl needs.

After a tip from Moxie Dynamite, I went in yesterday to purchase a red skort. And some stripey socks. (You can't go in and not get the stripey socks.) As I was checking out, one employee asked, "Are you in the roller derby?" I laughed and said yes like I do everytime I go in.

The employee who was (literally) checking me out, said, "Oh wow, how's that going?"

"Well," I said, "I broke my leg a few months ago so I haven't been doing too much skating lately."

"Oh," she said. "My friend Jorden is a PKP."

"Yeah, it was the PKPs that broke my leg," I said in a way that did not let on that the Z-Girls were to scrimmage the PKPs in a few short hours and avenge me.

"Oh my god!" she exclaimed. "I was there! I saw you break your leg."

I just smiled and nodded and mumbled something about the worst pain of my life.

Then she said, "OK, I know this is going to sound horrible, but everytime someone asks me about roller derby I say, 'It's so cool! I saw a lady break her leg!'"

I demured and said, "Yeah, I guess my injury made people realize that it's for real."

She smiled eagerly and started on a rampage of well wishes as I politely made a break for the door. I kind of laughed to myself a little as I got in the car, but once I started driving, I felt a little miffed. I wasn't necessarily upset by the American Apparel checkout girl's sentiment, but her wording. She saw a "lady" break her leg. Ladies do not play roller derby. Women play roller derby. Tough ass bitches play roller derby.

I couldn't help thinking that she meant lady as in old lady.

I am not an old lady.

I'm officially turning in my walker, crutches, cane, and (sniff) my handicapped parking decal on March 11th. That's when my ortho cleared me to "fully participate in roller derby activities."

Look out bitches!

Back in the Saddle

Last Sunday I entered FunQuest for the first time since the accident to sounds of wild applause. My teammates cheered me on as I hobbled in on my crutches, trying not to look too pitiful. "Where's your walker?" everyone wanted to know.

"I had a lot of good ideas to pimp it out, but no one ever followed through," I explained.

Even though it was an official team practice, we spent most of our two hours talking instead of skating. It was the first time we had all been together since the bout and we needed to debrief. It sucked having to relive our loss, but it was nice to clear the air and plan our attack for our next bout in March.

On Tuesday I attended the last night of Boot Camp to check out the new meat. Seasoned skaters were invited to attend Boot Camp, so about half of the league was there. Again I entered to cheers and applause from my league mates. Before I could crutch it out to the rink to properly greet everyone as they stretched, I was whisked away to be interviewed by Memphis Health & Fitness. I smiled and tried to make the nice man understand why I was still interested in skating. I gave my now almost automated response, "If I would have broken my leg in the championship game then maybe I'd be ready to quit. But I broke it in the pre=season. I haven't gotten the full experience yet."

While this soaks in, I say, "Besides, the health benefits still seem to outweigh the risks."

Skating is great physical exercise and being a part of a team is great mental exercise. I can't wait to get back on the rink!

But I know I've got a lot of fear to overcome. As I sat on the side and watched the fresh meat, I winced everytime someone fell. I was keenly aware of the angles at which their skates hit the ground. I had persistent hallucinations in which bones snapped repeatedly before me.

It was rough.

Thankfully I had friends, coaches, refs, newbies, and fans surrounding me with love and positive reinforcement.

I saw the ortho on Wednesday and she says my leg looks great. She told me to start weaning myself off of the crutches. (I had already started hobbling around the house without them.) She also gave me some stretches and exercises to do, but reiterated that the best thing I could do now was learn to walk unassisted again. First in the boot, then without. To top things off, she gave me papers for a temporary handicap decal so I can have my fill of excellent parking spaces in the interim.

Yep, not only do I have a walker, I have a handicapped tag!

My follow up is in six weeks. February 21st. I plan on walking in there, having her take one look at me and say, "Smashimi, time to lace up your skates!"

Christmas-y Goodness

On Christmas Eve we gathered at my mom's house. I was happy to have a new sofa on which to prop my (increasingly less swollen and disfigured leg), a chance to chat with my mom and sisters while the monkeys ran wild with their cousins, and a nap. After a two week sabbatical, Warren was happy to be back in the kitchen. Iron Chef Miki Moto spent almost three hours preparing a sushi feast that completely trumped the mound of gifts amassed under the Christmas tree.

For most of us anyway.

In terms of present opening, Satchel and his seven-year-old cousin, Sutton, were particularly rabid. They had been in charge of making everyone's present piles and once complete, couldn't wait to tear into their own giant stacks. "I have thirteen!" Sutton chirped.

"I have eleventy hundred!" Satchel countered.

We have a long standing present opening process in place, but Satchel did not care one bit. Nor did Sutton, apparently. Since the gifts were clearly in sight, the most awesomely motivating, "If you want to get Christmas presents this year, you better _________" was no longer of use. Every time I turned my head, Satchel was ripping into something new.

"Satchel, please wait for your daddy to finish making the sushi before opening your presents!" I whined to no avail.

"Sutton! Slow down and at least look at what you are opening!" my sister barked ineffectually.

"Remember when everyone used to open one present at a time and we all got to see what everyone had?" my mom pined pathetically.

We let Satchel, Sutton, and my ten-year-old nephew Branch, open all their gifts as fast as they could and then sent them away to play while we ate sushi and slowly opened ours. (At some point Jiro sauntered in and inquired if he had any gifts. Once I opened his new DVD, Cars, he squealed and ran off toward the DVD player.)

"Uh, yeah, uh, these are not at all what I wanted," my brother-in-law said when opening my sister's gift to him.

"A meat thermometer?" my mom said as she opened her gift from Team Oster. (Warren did our shopping this year.)

"Why did you get me this?" my sister hissed as she opened a gold angel for her car from my mom.

"Maybe because you almost died in a car accident the day after our birthday and you just bought a new car two days ago?" I offered as I opened the star of David candle holder my mom got me and tried to fake a big smile. (Clearly my mom was forced to purchase gifts from the White Station Middle School holiday catalog.) "Is it any wonder our kids act like such shits when opening gifts?"

We had a little laugh over that, filled our margarita glasses, and carried on. In the end, everyone got at least one thing they liked and the kids were happily running around trying out all of their new toys.

To top off the evening, I crawled in my mom's bed and put in the video from the Roller Derby bout that Duchess de Muertas gave me the week before. (I have no VCR.) I watched with my heart pounding. I was soon joined by my mom, my nephew, my sister, my niece, and the monkeys. Through the million questions being launched at me from the under ten crowd, I was able to see that the Z-girls did in fact play a very good game and that the score really wasn't as bad as I remembered--at least not until the third period.

Over the last ten days, I've had many conversations regarding my injury and discussed various theories on the cause. The most popular one being that my skate and/or toestop got lodged in the track lighting, thus causing my tibia and fibula to break. Initially I had just thought that it was a freak accident in which I was heading one way and got knocked another. After viewing the fatal blow over and over and over and over, I have come to the conclusion that my initial suspicions were correct. While my skate clearly hits the track and causes my foot to spin out at a bizarre angle, it happens after it is already broken. I was in a slack position looking backwards when the Duchess hit me hard on the right. I braced myself with my left foot, but instead of helping the situation, it only hurt it.

I like knowing it was a freak accident. Freak accidents are few and far between. If my skate had actually gotten stuck on the track like most people think, then that would nag at me and make me fear the track. Strangely calm, I gathered up the monkeys, Miki Moto, and our Christmas booty and headed home to get ready for Santa and get a good night's sleep.

And dream of returning to the track.

The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly

Let's start with the ugly. My walker.


Not only is it ugly, it's totally lacking in fun accessories like a bag or a tray to carry my meds, snacks, my phone...you get the idea. Getting from the kitchen to my station on the sofa is hard enough with the multiple obstacles and narrow pathways in our house without attempting to bring, oh I don't know, a fresh bottle of water back with me. (To date, I've been carrying it in my mouth.) Several times I've wandered to, say, the bathroom, only to hear my phone ring several rooms away.

I don't know how long I'll be using this sucker (or really why I was assigned one in the first place), but the chances are good that I'll someday get the opportunity to pass it on to another derby girl. Therefore I announce the official beginning of the Pimp my Walker competition. Send me your ideas and if selected, I will post before and after pictures, give you my undying gratitude, and entertain you with witty stories while you work.

There are no contest requirements other than all participants must keep one thing in mind: Safety First. (An early contestant suggested rope lights, but sadly being attached to a cord would only complicate my current situation.)

The Good
There's nothing inherently good about being injured, but if one were to look on the bright side, this would be it:
1. Wonderful family and friends to take care of me.
2. A warm place filled with electronics in which to recuperate.
3. Good insurance.
4. A steady stream of derby girls who come by and shower me with love, attention, and food every single day.
5. Pain medication.
6. Catching up on sleep.

The Bad
1. I'm not always the best at showing my family and friends how much I appreciate them.
2. Not being able to walk just sucks.
3. Using a walker really hurts my hands. Crutches aren't much better. I get winded easily and find it hard to do anything other than hang out around the house.
4. My pain medications really back up the pipes, if you know what I mean.

Back to the good: Fortunately the bad things aren't really all that bad, and most of them are just temporary.

Unblocked

Sometime in the night the nerve block that the anesthesiologist gave me officially wore off. I had to wake up every few hours and take some pain meds and deep breaths. When the kids got up for school, they ran into my room as usual and Jiro climbed into bed with me. Satchel stood staring. "Come on," I said.

"I don't want to hurt your leg," he said sweetly.

"It's okay, just be careful," I said.

He mounted the bed and carefully climbed over my head so that he wouldn't risk touching my leg.

We snuggled for a bit and then I sent them to get dressed. I hobbled with my plastic grocery bag filled with medication to my station on the couch and tried to look happy until they left. (I had to disguise my medicine because Jiro likes popping pills almost as much as he likes drinking beer.)

On his way out the door, Satchel kissed me and said, "I missed you when you were in the hospital."

Aw.

Once I heard them drive off, I called the doctor's office to see if I could double up on the medicine.

I could.

By the time Warren got home from dropping off the boys, I was in slightly better shape and beginning my list of complaints. "I need a laptop," I whined as I hobbled my way past the obstacles in the dining room in an effort to check my email for the first time in *gasp* days.

"I'll get the one from the office as soon as the guys get back from the field," he said sympathetically.

When I had finished with my email, I whimpered, "I need to wash my hair."

"Come over here and I'll wash it in the kitchen sink," he said helpfully.

Finally grease-free, I moaned, "I'm hungry."

"Go sit down and I will bring you some lunch," he said soothingly.

"There's nothing on TV," I lamented.

"Pick out a pay-per-view movie," he suggested.

I took some more medicine and selected The Lake House, a lovely film investigating the space/time continuum, starring two of my generation's finest actors, Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock.

"Is it okay if I go work on the roof now?" Warren asked.

When the movie was over, I napped and talked on the phone. I called my friend Blair, who I remembered had a similar injury from soccer a few years ago. She totally empathized with me and made me feel better. When I went to make another email check, I discovered that she sent me a free Netflix subscription! Cool. My friend Dan also sent an email saying he had a spare laptop I could use. Score!

Warren went to get the boys and I went back to the sofa. Dan and his son, Gus, came over to show me how to use the laptop and hang out. "We had a really good time at the bout...until you got hurt," he said. We chatted for as long as Gus could stand playing with "baby toys" and they left just as Warren and the monkeys were pulling up.

Satchel asked, "Is a derby girl bringing dinner tonight?"

"Uh-huh."

"Yay! Which one?"

"Duchess de Meurtas."

"Is she the one who broke your leg?" he asked.

"Well, technically she did not break my leg, but she is the one who blocked me when I was looking the other way and initiated the fall that resulted in me breaking me leg." (I haven't always felt this diplomatic about the situation. Last night, Lizzie McFighter, who was first to come to my side after the accident, laughingly reminded me that my first words to her were, "I can't believe those bitches did this to me!")

The Duchess and Chica Bandita, also of the PrissKilla Prezleys, soon arrived with a huge pan of lasagna, a big bag of salad, a loaf of french bread, and a video of the bout. We made some small talk and then did some reminiscing about the game.

"I've watched the video over and over and over trying to figure out what happened," The Duchess said. "It looks like your skate gets caught on the track and then your toe stop does something weird and that's it."

"Our VCR isn't hooked up, but I'll definitely take a look at it," I said. "The whole bout is kind of a blur."

"It's in the third period, seven minutes and 30 seconds in," she said as she burst out crying.

"Oh my god, stop," I said. "It's okay. I'm going to be okay."

"I feel so bad," she said. "I don't know if I can do this anymore. I'm so sorry."

"Duchess, it's roller derby. I don't blame you at all. I plan on getting back out there and you will too."

She wiped her tears and gave me a big hug and left looking like she had just lost her best friend. It was terrible.

But the lasagna was delicious.

Discharged

On Tuesday morning I was told that after two physical therapy sessions to learn how to use a walker, I would be sent home.

Yes, a walker.

A very nice physical therapist showed me how to get in and out of bed, how to walk around, and how to tackle stairs. For the first time in several days, I was able to take myself to the bathroom. Very exciting.

"I really wish I could take a shower," I said to the PT, hoping that she might have a solution. I hadn't showered since the bout and was at an all time low in terms of personal hygiene.

"Well, I can bring you a bucket of warm water and a wash rag," she offered.

"Okay, thanks."

I did some minor scrubbing, but still felt pretty nasty. My hair was super greasy and stuck to my head and I desperately needed to shave. If my mom had been around I would have probably found a way to get in the handicapped accessible shower just a few feet away from me. But she wasn't and none of the nurses seemed to want to really help me. Nate, the grunt nurse of the day, told me he was "busy doing everything but my job" when he heard that I had been reduced to tears after being left on the bedpan for 15 minutes by him earlier in the day. I suddenly felt a deep sympathy for my incredibly independent, but invalid, grandmother who was moved to a nursing home at age 94.

I was ready to go home and clearly the nurses were ready for me to go home, but there was one hitch. I needed a walker. Apparently the one that had been ordered for me was MIA. Thankfully my brother, the doctor, had come to visit me (in his scrubs and lab coat). Before I knew it I had a small group of dedicated, enthusiastic nurses oohing and aahing over me, going out of their way to help me get dressed, get my discharge papers and numerous prescriptions, and find my walker. It was amazing.

"I didn't know your brother was a doctor," they said. (His nickname at the hospital where he works is Dr. McDreamy.)

Soon, I was officially sprung and Dr. McDreamy dropped my prescriptions at the pharmacy and escorted me home. I was enthusiastically greeted on the lawn by the monkeys and Warren. I hobbled my way in and--after moving the bed and several other obstacles--went directly to the bathroom.

By the time I made my way out, Jill B. Nimble and Rattleskate of the PrissKilla Prezleys, were in standing in the diningroom with a giant bucket of chicken and two kids meals. After some reminiscing about the bout and some big hugs, I settled in on the sofa and had a welcome home feast with the monkeys.

It was fantastic.

Surgery, Take 2

A week ago today I had the unenviable task of calling my boss (who's last words to me on the Friday before the bout were, "Don't overdo it on Saturday") and informing her that I was in the hospital with a leg broken in two places waiting for an operating room to free up. She was very sweet and understanding about the whole thing, but I still felt like an a-hole. It's getting to be near the end of the year, there is work to be done, and my clients are demanding. Their needs do not go on hold when I am sick. People (busy with their own work) have to cover for me. It's not cool.

But obviously, I wasn't much good to anyone in my state and I would have much rather have been at my desk than in a hospital bed. I had to let it go.

I was whisked away to surgery much earlier than expected which was a nice surprise. I called my mom and Warren to let them know. I was happy to be getting the show on the road, although I have to admit that there's nothing quite like waking up from surgery in immense pain. Plus I had just read an essay in The Sun about a man who suddenly remembered everything that happened while he was under anesthesia and I certainly didn't want to experience that for myself.

"I usually keep people awake for this surgery," the anesthesiologist informed me, "but I'm going to let you sleep."

"Why?" I asked.

"Well, it's a pretty bad break," he said. "I'm also going to give you a nerve block so that you don't feel anything in that leg for 24-48 hours."

"Awesome, you'll love that!" piped in Dr. Palmieri.

Next a resident came over to see what happened to me.

"Roller Derby," I said.

"Oh my god," she said. "My dream is to be in the roller derby."

I laughed a little and said, "Well, try-outs start tomorrow."

She thought it over for a minute and said, "I'm not sure I'd have enough time."

"Yeah, it is pretty time-consuming," I admitted.

Then we played the "you look familiar" game in which we discovered that we both went to Rhodes. Admittedly I remembered who she was right away since my roommate and later another friend had their boyfriends "wander" into her open arms back in the day. Seeing that I was about to be at her mercy, I astutely decided not to bring that up.

Somewhere along the way I fell asleep, got operated on, and then woke up with a start. "OW!" I screamed as my leg burst into flames. The anesthesiologist rushed over, activated the nerve block, and then I was thankfully mostly pain free.

I was wheeled back to my room where Warren and my mom were waiting for me. They checked out my leg and discovered that it was wrapped in a splint, much like it was before surgery. The nurses set me up on a Dilauded drip, Dr. Palmieri informed everyone that the surgery went great, and I immediately went back to sleep.

The rest of the day is a blur. I remember trying to stay awake long enough to read my magazine or watch TV, but had little success. Friends called to check on me and most of them reminded me of similar conversations we had had the day before that I had forgotten, which led me to believe that I was pretty out of it. I do remember that Angelina Rolie suggested I take notes on the hospital food to do a Recommended Dish for the Flyer. "I wish I could," I said, "but it's pretty slim pickings." I ended up eating a plain turkey sandwich with baked Lays both for lunch and dinner. Things were getting rather grim.

Warren had the boys call after school. "Are you still in that bed?" Satchel asked.

"Yep, still here."

Plan for today: Surgery

I woke up in a narcotic haze on Sunday and was informed that I might not have to wait until Monday for surgery. Awesome. Unfortunately this also meant that I couldn't eat or drink anything. I hadn't eaten anything since my pre-skating ritual of two bananas at 5pm the day before. I hadn't had anything to drink since right before the third period. I was definitely much more thirsty than hungry, but I realized my only nourishment was going to come from licking off the remains of the 16 hour red lipstick that Robin-n-Stealin had put on me before the bout. (The entire time I was in the ER my mom kept saying, "That lipstick is fabulous. Your teeth look so white!" Knowing that I had lipstick on top of my sparkly uniform only made me feel more embarrassed.)

Ok so lipstick and an IV. And Dilaudid. I could deal with that.

I slept most of the day as nurses and doctors and visitors came in and out. My mom arrived bright and early (I think) and got to meet the very peppy Dr. Palmieri who thought that Roller Derby was cool as hell. "Once I fix you up, you'll never break that leg again," she said referring to the metal rod that would be inserted at my knee and screwed in at my ankles.

She made me feel like I'd be on the road to recovering in no time. "Think I can go ahead with the back surgery I have scheduled for the 20th?" I asked.

"Sure!" she said. "Just come in the day before and we'll get you in a boot and you'll be good to go."

Awesome.

She went on to say that since it was a Sunday and there was only one operating crew working there was a good chance that we would be bumped in favor of someone with a life threatening injury. She said she'd make the call by 4pm so I wouldn't starve needlessly.

My sister called at noonish to see if Warren would be picking up the kids soon. "Jiro fell asleep by midnight," she reported, "but Satchel was up watching movies until at least 2am."

"Great."

"And then they all woke up at 6:30am. I'm exhausted."

"Any chance they'll nap?"

"Ha!"

"Well I can only assume that Warren is still asleep since I haven't heard from him," I said.

"I'm giving him 30 minutes then I'm waking him up," she said.

"Sounds like a plan," I said.

Warren did call shortly after our conversation. "It was really weird having the house all to myself," he reported. "I almost didn't know where I was."

I encouraged him to get the monkeys and take them home for a nap rather than coming to hold vigil in the hospital with me. "Come see me later, hopefully after the surgery," I said like an old pro.

Despite birthing my two babies in my bedroom at home, I've spent my share of time in the hospital. There was the car wreck in 1990, reconstructive knee surgery in 1991, something that shall not be shouted on the Internets in 2000, and a miscarriage in 2003. I wasn't scared. I knew the routine.

Between naps I woke up to find Manda Malice by my bedside with a bouquet of flowers from her team, The Angels of Death, and news that she was organizing meal deliveries for the next three weeks.

Awesome.

At 5:30pm someone brought me a meal tray and informed that I had indeed been bumped from the OR. "You can eat and drink until midnight," I was told.

I took a peek at the Saulsberry steak and black-eyed peas under the pink plastic cover and immediately got on the horn with my mom. I took advantage of her love for me and convinced her to swing through Sekisui Pacific Rim on her way to visit me.

Her arrival perfectly coincided with the arrival of the monkeys. Suddenly my dull hospital room was transformed into a medical wonderland repleat with edamame. Satchel looked at me and asked, "Why are you wearing those clothes?"

Jiro looked at the TV and asked, "Where is the remote?"

Satchel sidled up to my bed and examined all the buttons. "What does this button do?" he asked. While I tried to think of an uninteresting response, he said, "I know! It makes the bed blow up!"

"Yeah, please don't push that one."

"Is your leg still broken?"

"Yep."

"They're going to fix it?"

"Yep."

"You just have to stay in the bed?"

"Yep."

Next Warren blew up a rubber glove for each of them and drew on a face with the whiteboard markers. The monkeys chased the balloons around the room and squealed with delight. They were giddy.

I was dizzy.

"Oh my god," I said, "I know what to get you guys for Christmas." I let them have a few more minutes of fun and then I couldn't take anymore. "Sorry, but y'all are going to have to leave," I said.

Warren looked a little lost as he led them out. "I don't know if they are going to make it to school tomorrow," he said.

"It's okay if y'all are late," I said. "Don't think that if you can't get them there by 8:45am that they have to stay home all day." Months and months of flying solo had taught me a few things. I felt bad for him, but I also felt like maybe now he would see what life is like for us when he's on a dig.

"Bye! I love you!" I said as I collapsed back in my bed.

I've Fallen and I Can't Get Up

So as I lay dying, I make eye contact with Judge Booty. She is looking at me with her whistle in her mouth wondering if I am getting up. It didn't take long for her to realize that I wasn't. Before I knew it Lizzie McFighter, one of the night's announcers was by my side encouraging me to cuss all I wanted. "Let it out," she said as I squeezed her hand. Next Manda Malice, our designated injury pro, was there ordering people around ("Move away!") and getting down to business ("Where does it hurt?"). I was holding my lower leg which led the EMT to start investigating my ankle. She took off my skate and started feeling around. I muttered, "It's my shin, It's my shin," as she taped my ankle.

I was in horrible pain. Like worse than 36 hours of natural childbirth pain. People started talking about me standing up and trying to walk off the rink--with assistance of course. "NO FUCKING WAY," I said. There was no way I was going to stand up. All my instincts were telling me to hold onto my leg with both hands and cuss at anyone who got near me.

The game had to go on, and I had to move, so at some point four brave souls picked me up and carried me to a chair next to the Z-Girl dugout. I looked at the chair and said, "NOOOOOOOOOOOO! NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" The thought of bending my leg or having it dangle from anything did not appeal to me. The EMT promised to hold onto my ankle and they set me down.

I remember saying, "I don't feel like my leg is attached to my foot," and Manda Malice assuring me that it was. "My shin REALLY hurts," I continued.

"Pain radiates up," she said.

The EMT was feeling my ankle, saying, "It feels okay, it might just be a sprain."

"I HEARD BONES CRACK," I said clearly between cussing and moaning.

Soon Warren, my mom, my kids, my sister, and my brother (a doctor) and several other people started gathering around me to participate in the "Do you want to go to the hospital in a car or an ambulance" conversation.

"There is no way that I can get in a car," I said.

Someone started talking about Morphine and my brother stepped in close to monitor the situation. (He even held my hand--a clear indicator that he wasn't too sure if I was getting the best care possible.) I looked at him and said, "Please get me an ambulance, please. And some pain relief!"

An ambulance was called and morphine was injected. I expected to soon be comfortably numb, muttering I love you to the guy on the other end of the needle, but I wasn't. I started to sweat and hyperventilate. I knew that I looked like a total wuss and that surely people had broken their ankles with much less drama, but I was out of my mind with pain.

However, I have to say that for the few moments that Satchel and Jiro were standing next to me, I smiled calmly and said, "Mommy's okay. Everything's okay," in a way that actually reassured them. Jiro looked wide-eyed and exhausted and was happy to be led away by his cousin. Satchel held my hand and showed me the toy from his Happy Meal and generally made me feel super proud of my Big Boy.

It was around that moment that Sand Storm (who sprained her ankle in the first bout) came over and said, "You just had to outdo me, huh?" I tried to smile, but I think it probably looked like a snarl. To my left Dirty Constance was in the midst of taking my picture. I gave her the same look I gave Warren when he tried to film me in labor with Jiro and she quickly put down the camera.

Finally I was on a stretcher heading out the door. People were standing around applauding, which was nice, but it made me feel like a total loser because I was still moaning and screaming and grasping my leg while begging the EMT not to bump into my foot.

Manda Malice was still by my side with my insurance information in her hand, and I was very glad about that. They wouldn't let her ride in the back of the ambulance with me, so she sat in the front and tried to make me feel better. "You looked like a total badass out there!" she said.

"What was the final score?" I asked.

"I wasn't paying attention to the score!" she ducked. "I was too busy paying attention to you."

Meanwhile the EMT got on the horn with Methodist Germantown's ER. "Wah wah wah wah DEFORMITY wah wah wah wah," was all I heard.

"What do you mean deformity?" I asked.

"Oh the EMT on scene noted a deformity in your shin that might be a break."

I went to my happy place and tried to keep the cussing to a minimum as we flew over every bump possible along Highway 72/Poplar Avenue.

After what seemed like an eternity I was wheeled into the ER and told that I would have to wait. In a wheelchair. "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" I started whimpering again, thinking about my leg having to once again be jostled and dangled. "Please, please, please nooooooooo," I whimpered in my sparkly outfit, torn blue fishnets, and big bulky knee pads.

I took a break from moaning to assess the situation. I was crying in a sparkly outfit, torn blue fishnets, and big bulky knee pads in front of 30 or more people calmly waiting in Germantown at 10pm on a Saturday night to be seen by a doctor. I LOOKED LIKE A TOTAL FREAK.

Someone asked someone what was wrong with me and the reply, "She broke her leg in the roller derby," hung in the air like a thick black cloud. I'd say the general reaction to this news was horror, with maybe a small minority of people expressing quiet awe.

"Can someone get me a blanket to cover up these silver hot shorts?" I begged.

Again, I was joined by Satchel and Jiro and the rest of my family. I put on my happy face long enough to get them excited about a slumber party with their cousins which thankfully was the exact amount of time it took the radiologist to pick out the "roller derby girl with a broken leg" from the crowded room.

"I didn't think they had roller derby anymore," he said as he wheeled me back.

I didn't dignify that with a response.

"So what happened?" he asked.

"Someone hit me, I heard a crack, and I fell down," I replied.

He parked me next to the X-Ray table and said, "Okay, we just have to get you up--"

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" I wailed. "Please don't put me on that table. PLEASE."

He looked at his nurse and they started scrambling, trying to figure out a way to X-Ray me. Somehow they managed to just lift my leg up a bit and capture the images through my screams. I sat crying in my chair while they hustled around some more. "Let's get her a room," the radiologist said to the nurse.

"Is it broken?" I asked sadly.

"In a couple of places," he said.

Strangely this made me happy. I didn't feel like such a wuss anymore. MY LEG IS BROKEN IN TWO PLACES! Not one, but TWO. I imagined getting wheeled into a room, getting a nice little cast, some drugs, and then getting sent home...or to the after party at the Deli. A cigarette and a beer sounded really good.

Instead I was wheeled into a room and then left alone for 15 minutes. I was still in horrendous pain and still in my (what now seemed) ridiculous uniform. I looked to see if I could reach a nurse call button, but I couldn't. I started to panic. I didn't want to be left alone in my pain for another second.

"Please help me! PLEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAASE!" I cried over and over to no avail. I briefly considered taking off my knee pad and throwing it at the door. I figured it would either be a really bad throw that would only piss me off more or that it would actually result in a broken window which would not win me any fans so I left it alone and just cried.

Finally a nurse came in and tried to calm me down. "My leg is broken in two places," I said.

"Did the doctor tell you that?" she asked puzzled.

"The radiologist did," I said.

"Well we can't do anything until the doctor looks at your X-Rays," she said.

"Well where is the doctor?" I asked.

"With another patient," she said. Then another nurse-dude came in and they informed me that I had to get on the bed.

I went with my usual response to news that I needed to be moved without medication, "NOOOOOOOOOO!!"

"We have to," she said. "And then we can get your friend to come back and sit with you."

I sniffled in a most pathetic way as they heaved me on the bed. "Hold my leg! Please GOD hold my leg!" I really can't believe I didn't die or just pass out from all of the pain I endured up to that moment.

"I'm sorry," the nurse said disingenuously as the nurse-dude looked at me with scorn.

"Get Manda!" I said as she rushed out.

"I can't find her," she said, scared, a couple of minutes later.

"Then get my husband! He's Asian. You can't miss him!" I demanded.

I was soon joined by Warren and my mommy and they said all sorts of nice things to me while we waited for the doctor to come in and inform me that I had a "pretty nasty" break in my tibia and a "pretty normal" break in my fibula and that he was pretty sure that I was going to need surgery. On Monday. When an orthopedist would be in.

Surgery.

Monday.

Great.

"We can give you some pain medication and a splint and you can either go home and wait or get a room and wait."

I looked at Warren and my mom and thought about getting in and out of the car and in and out of bed and on and off the toilet and on and off the sofa with two wild monkeys running around and said, "Can I just get a room?"

"Of course," they said thankfully.

It was 1am and we were all exhausted. I sent them home and assured them that I would be fine. By 2am the scornful nurse-dude and his grouchy helper had wrangled me into a splint, highly medicated me, and turned me over to Linda and Lolita in the ortho ward.

Lolita got me undressed and helped me onto a bedpan. Linda said, "They have you down for pain meds every six hours, but we're going to have to change it because (nodding to my leg) you broke that."

"In TWO places."

Photo compliments of Shannon Dixon

Not Quite Like I Imagined...

So Saturday, December 9th was the Big Day.

My Derby Debut.

The day that I had been dreaming of since February 21st.

I spent much of the day reminiscing about how far we had all come. Those first few weeks of practice were pretty sad--lots of falling for no apparent reason, water breaks every five minutes, shin splints, uncertainty, drama, and so on. It took the league awhile to get the business end rolling smoothly. Once we formed teams, things really started to shape up.

However, my team, The Legion of Zoom, continued to struggle. We had some serious injuries right off the bat. We had to fire our coach. We had a handful of girls leave for various reasons. Luckily we were able to replace them, but we were still seen as the underdogs by pretty much the whole league. That was okay. By December 9th we were a well-oiled machine. One of our previously injured skaters, Whorecules, had morphed into a kickass coach, our newbies had proven to be quick learners (not to mention tough), and amazingly all 13 of us were injury free. We fully expected to take the rink by storm, disabusing everyone of the notion that we were at all lacking in any area.

Once the reminiscing was done, I spent the rest of day looking for a place that serves sushi before 5pm and deciding whether to wear red or blue fishnets under my silver hot pants.

At the bout, the Z-Girls (as the Legion of Zoom likes to be called) got off to a great start. We had secretly choreographed an entrance unlike any other team that involved us ripping off white buttondowns and ties, Clark Kent style, to reveal our sparkly, never before seen uniforms. Our intro went off without a hitch and we quickly won the fans over.

As the lights dimmed and we started our first jam, I was totally focused on doing everything I could to stop the other team's jammer from scoring while simultaneously doing everything I could to help our jammer. As pivot, it is my job to set the pace of the pack, and with my adrenaline pumping I know I had us all going way too fast. I had no idea where my friends and family were sitting or what the announcer was saying, I just skated and pushed, skated and pushed. The PrissKillas immediately got a lead on us and it seemed like we spent the whole first period playing catch up. My whole body was on fire and I could barely breathe, but I didn't want to stop. I gave some hard hits and took quite a few. I fell down more in the first period than I have all year.

But I kept getting back up.

That's the most amazing thing about derby. The more you fall, the easier it is to get back up. Your body just gets used to it. In the beginning a fall might leave me sore for weeks, or at least give me a nasty bruise. Not anymore. I had really gotten to a point where I didn't fear falling down or getting injured. I felt strong and in control like I did when I was eighteen and the captain of my soccer team.

By the third and last period we were down by 15 or 20 or 30 (I don't think anyone knew for sure) points. We had spent our twenty minute break mentally preparing ourselves to get out there and close the gap. We knew that we could do it and we were ready to give it our all. Two minutes before returning to the floor, Judge Booty took me aside as team captain and informed me that Machine Gun Kelly had three major fouls from the first two periods and was being ejected. It was a total kick in the gut. Machine Gun Kelly is our top scoring jammer. The three majors rule had just been instituted by our refs after the first bout (where the rule was five). I tried arguing, but it was useless. I had to tell Whorecules and the team just as we were leaving the locker room. It wasn't good.

A few minutes into the third period Judge Booty called me over again to say that both Envie and Transam (two of our best blockers) were in danger of being ejected if either of them got another foul. As they sat in the penalty box, I gave them a stern lecture and then once again had to break the bad news to Whorecules. We were all starting to panic a little, but we didn't give up--not even when Envie was ejected a few minutes later. On my next time out, I stayed focused on winning despite being exhausted and somewhat demoralized. (I wanted us to be 30 points ahead!)

As I skated around the bend, I felt someone bump me when I wasn't looking. Before I could see who it was, I heard my leg snap. I looked down to see my ankle and foot swing out from under me at a very unnatural angle, and then I was down.

"FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!" I screamed as I pounded my fist on the floor.

I knew that I wasn't getting back up.

to be continued...