This past November plans are made, and tickets booked for me to join the boys-only crew of Eventually in the Canary Islands and help sail it across the Atlantic to winter in the Caribbean. The women are to join after the difficult (and boring) passage work is complete, and then together we’ll cruise some of the islands with our dear friends Brian and Tara before Clare and I jump off for a long-neglected visit to my family in the US.
A month or two before that trip kicks off, I start playing regular basketball with a group of young and rambunctious Turks. Clare–ever the clairvoyant–warns against this practice for fear of injuring myself before the Big Sail. ”Oh come on,” I say in righteous indignation, “I play ice hockey, basketball isn’t even a contact sport, I’ll be fine,” and think nothing more of it.
Lo and behold, the very next game I come down with a rebound at an awkward angle and POP goes the weasel–my left knee joint. Game over, back to the boat, lots of ice and elevation, and time to watch Michael Jordan’s Last Dance on Netflix (totally recommend if you’re a bball fan) over a long weekend.
Fast forward–8 doctor’s visits, 4 MRIs in 3 different cities over two months–and it’s finally determined that my ACL (the main ligament that stabilizes the movement of the knee joint) is ruptured, my meniscus is torn, and my left shoulder suffers from a severe labral tear. The only remedy for all these aliments, arthroscopic surgery.
Not only does this injury force me to bail on the winter sailing trip I was so excited about, but depending on recovery time it may complicate our efforts to leave Turkey this April. So instead of pina coladas on Caribbean beaches followed by toasty fires in family living rooms, I get to look forward to weeks of crutched hobbling followed by rubber band stretches all in cramped floating quarters. Then to top it all off, and in the most dramatic display of sympathy I can imagine, our cat Kismet goes and snaps his leg in two, requiring surgery and long recovery in a confined space.
Despite the fact that off-season rents have more than tripled since last winter, with two cripples to accommodate it feels imperative to hire an apartment for a long cold/wet winter spent indoors. Fortuitously, the Turkish health insurance we bought two years ago for a song (as required for residency) will help to offset our living expenses by covering the bulk of my medical bills. For the first time in my adult life I experience the relief of having health insurance.
But before going under the knife, let’s take advantage of our new winter digs and the fact that I’m still relatively capable, and tackle the biennial out-of-the-water maintenance on Champagne. I wrap up the work just in time for us to join friends in Glasgow for Christmas, and then even more friends in a different part of Scotland for a rabid New Year’s. Woot woot!
Some ten days after returning to Turkey, I find myself waking from general anesthesia and putting Google Translate to good use in order to ensure I don’t wet the bed. After a long weekend stay in the big smoke, and a final visit to the doctor’s office (“all went according to plan and looks good”), we’re back in our beautiful penthouse apartment in Kaş where the bleak winter weather is still yet to arrive.
What I anticipated to be weeks of weathering persistent pain while laying immobile in bed, turns out to be only mild discomfort while hobbling around the house with a bloated knee and an arm that I can’t raise but a hand I can still use–you won’t get the best of me you pesky pickle jar! I’m already doing basic movements to rebuild the range of my joints, and I’ve even cooked a meal and cleaned the dishes…but best I exercise caution before my beautiful nurse decides to withhold her services 😉
It’s only a week since the surgeries, and I do have a tendency of putting the cart before the horse, so let’s not jump to any conclusions yet…but I’m feeling better than expected, the sun is shining, and Kismet is back to being his usual–a rascally pain in the ass!
