Blackbirds: Not So Indestructible After All

Yeah. That title is actually in reference to a couple of things that happened this past weekend, in which yours truly, Raven J. Blackbird, was brought down from the soaring heights to the cold reality of the pavement. Or, in this case, the snow.

N and I drove up to Squaw on Sunday to take advantage of last week's storm and get in some skiing on what might be the last reasonably fresh pow of the season. Woke up at ass-o-clock, picked up N and his gear, and off we went. Got there before first chair and got in line to go up KT-22. Mind you, this lift serves some of the hardest terrain at this mountain, and I had never been up there before. N said that there were some blue/easy black trails, though, and I'd been having a good season skiing single-black runs, so I figure why not, let's do it. Up we go. Normally I like to pick an easy blue for my first couple of warm-up runs, so I suppose that was my first mistake.

First run is great. Conditions are good, terrain is good, sun is out, and we get to the bottom of the next lift and the adrenaline is going. There were a couple of points where I was seriously flying, or at least that's how it felt, but it was really good. I don't get the feeling that N is going to try to take me on some run that I can't handle, so we get to the top of the next lift and we're deciding which way to go, and we start off to the left. N points out an easier way down but even the way right off the lift honestly doesn't look like something I can't handle. There aren't any moguls, and it's not stupid steep, so I figure why not, let's go for it. That was, I suppose, mistake number two.

And then it happens. I'm heading down towards a flat groomed area and I start picking up some speed. The snow is a weird consistency - not crunchy or old, not light and fluffy - kinda wet and heavy but not like the usual Sierra cement. The run is also not groomed, so I can't really gauge how deep the snow is at any given point, and I guess I didn't realize how heavy the snow was or something, but I went to make a turn and, well, I didn't turn. Or, more accurately, I went right and my skis kept going left until I did a barrel roll or two. Somewhere in the first roll, I think, I felt a pop in my right knee, and I came out of my aerobatics holding said knee and grimacing in pain.

We all know where this is going, don't we? N comes by and asks me if I'm OK, and I say no, there's no way I'm going to be able to make it down the mountain. Even though the pain is fading a bit (and I'm piling the snow on top of my knee to serve as an ice pack) I know there's something very wrong. So, N calls ski patrol, they bring over the sled, load me up, and down we go. I'm laughing and joking about the whole experience while it's happening, because, well, what else am I going to do? Can't get upset, it's not going to make my knee feel better.

At the urgent care, they x-ray my knee and the doctor does some motion and joint laxity tests, and tells me that my ACL is torn, and it's probably a full tear based on the amount of motion in my knee. Ski season is over. He also says that there's really nothing to do right now except put a brace on it, ice it, and wait for the swelling to go down, and then go follow up with an orthopedic specialist in a week or so. OK. They give me some pain meds, a pair of crutches, and send me on my way. Let me tell you, crutches are a bitch if you've never used them before. I had to crutch-hop out to my car and then drive back to the clinic to get my shit; by the time I did all of this, I was pretty exhausted.

N was nowhere to be found during all of this, in case you're wondering. After I got loaded into the ski patrol sled, he skied down part of the way and then took off. Sent me a text message at some point while I was in the clinic, but otherwise not a peep. Once I had the car loaded, I called him and said that I was leaving - there was no point in me sticking around, and there were some other friends of ours coming up that weekend, plus I'd lost my parking space. He was out there on the mountain somewhere anyway, and I wasn't about to wait around. So, I start driving home. Dude calls me a few minutes later and asks if I'm OK to drive, after I've already been driving. Like it's some kind of afterthought or something. What-the-fuck-ever.

So, as I'm driving home, yeah, my leg hurts, but that's not what I'm really upset about. Knees get injured, shit happens, and that's why they have doctors and surgery and physical therapy and vicodin. But to have someone that is supposedly one of your best friends ditch you like that when you're injured - that's fuckin' harsh. If the situation had been reversed, y'all better know damn well that I'd have gone to urgent care with the injured party and waited there with them to find out the diagnosis. Isn't that what friends do? And to think this didn't even naturally occur to N to do this? Wow. I can handle the physical injury. And there are so many layers of armor around my emotions that there's really not a whole lot that most people can do to upset me or hurt my feelings.

But this? No, this legitimately hurt. As in I wasn't sure whether to scream, cry, or break shit kind of hurt. It was a long drive home. I texted N later that day and asked him if he would have done the same thing if, instead of me on the mountain, it was one of his previous girlfriends. I also told him not to answer right away but to think about it long and hard.

I finally get home and hop up 3 flights of stairs, pop a bunch of vicodin, and put some ice on my knee. N calls me later that night and I just tell him that I'm not in the mood to talk right now, and he respectfully goes away. If we'd actually talked on Sunday night, we probably wouldn't still be friends. We did end up discussing things on Monday, at which point there was a collection of mea culpas followed by my airing of grievances, and I said flat out that it's going to take me some time to forgive this one.

Went to my real doctor yesterday; still need to get an MRI to confirm what is or isn't wrong, but he's not as pessimistic as the UC doc. Best case, bad sprain. Worst case, full tear of the ACL that requires surgery. I suspect that it's somewhere in the middle, but who knows exactly where. I couldn't put any weight on it Sunday. Today, I can put 100% of my weight on the bad leg, I can walk, go up and down stairs, but I don't have full ROM and any lateral pressure still hurts like a motherfucker, and the swelling hasn't fully subsided. I'm told that the fact that I can do these things is a good sign and probably contraindicates a full tear, but yeah, until I go sit in a magnet, I don't know.

J has really been helpful this week.^[1] She just recovered from a knee injury and gave me some advice for how to get in/out of my car and also lent me the knee brace she had been using - a nontrivial upgrade over the one I had picked up at Dick's last time I was in Phoenix. Sadly, she was supposed to come over on Tuesday night but decided not to because she didn't want me to have to make an extra trip up/down the stairs when driving her home. My knee appreciated her consideration, but I still feel like I need to give N some shit for this.

So... yeah. Maybe blackbirds are not so indestructible after all. That's the lesson learned this week. But we fly on.