Mark Hayter's Column: The dive

MARK HAYTER 936-537-0918 hayter.mark@gmail.com

Hayter article for October 13, 2019

“Taking a dive”

Before I dive into today’s topic, I thought it prudent to give readers a follow-up on last week’s article. As both of you may recall, it was while playing racquetball with Brad that I ran headlong into the back wall.

I’ve suffered several injuries in my short lifetime, but next to the injury I took the night Dennis moved our bed while I was in the bathroom, the racquetball crash was the worst.

Bottom line, I tore some tendons that were meant to keep my collarbone attached to my shoulder. Using a model of a knee joint, Dr. Wetzel, my orthopedic surgeon, demonstrated what had happened in my shoulder. He would’ve used his shoulder joint model but it was being used in another room to demonstrate to a patient how knee replacement surgery is carried out.

By the way, Dr. Wetzel was a student during my teaching days at McCullough High School. Back then, he was known as “Stu.” I remember the Class of ’82 as being a fun group. I don’t know if Stu was in my class. Had he been, he would’ve likely shied away from medicine and become a standup comic. The man has a good sense of humor.

Speaking of tendons, Stuart, I mean Dr. Wetzel, told me that my injury didn’t require surgery. When I asked if the tendons would reattach themselves, he assured they wouldn’t. The good news is, these particular tendons are pretty much superfluous. Dr. Wetzel said that in 100,000 years or so, we probably won’t even have any. They’re going to go the way of the little toe. Of course, a day or two after death, I won’t have little toes, tendons or even a skull. Whatever I have will fit inside a small urn, and eventually be part of a coral reef.

Dr. Wetzel wants to check on me in a few weeks for a follow-up. When I asked if I would ever be able to play racquetball, he jokingly said, “Have you ever played racquetball?” – Dr. Wetzel tires of hearing the same old jokes from patients who ask if they’ll be able to play the violin after their physical therapy. Patients can be so silly.

Well, that’s my concise follow-up on last week’s article, so now I can get to my original topic, which is about what occurred the night Dennis moved the bed. Talk about your coincidences! I’ve told the story before, but I doubt either one of you remember.

So, as kids, Dennis and I had to sleep in the same bed. It was a bed and mattress that had been handed down from Mom and Dad to Larry to Dennis and me. Back then, mattresses lasted about as long a buried hammer.

It happened on the night Dennis and I had been playing Monopoly on the floor in our bedroom. Mom came in and told us to get in bed. Dennis had the idea to slide the Monopoly board under the bed, so we could finish the game later.

Mom made me take a bath before getting into bed. I have no idea why Dennis was always so much cleaner than me. By the time I stepped into the hallway, all of the house lights were out. Everyone, except for Mom had been asleep for a good while. As I felt my way down the hall to the bedroom, I heard a growl. It might’ve been Frankenstein, but I wasn’t ruling out the Creature from the Black Lagoon.

In truth, I could pick my big brother’s growl from a recording of all of the growls in the world. Dennis was three years older, and smarter, wiser and more athletic than I’d ever be. Being a dumb kid, I decided to turn the tables on him by tiptoeing into the pitch-black room and diving on top of him. I’d show him I was no ‘fraidy cat. Obviously, it had to be a good high leap, so I would give the notion that a creature had fallen from the ceiling.

After regaining consciousness, the only thing I could remember was “the thought” of diving into bed. I found myself on the floor propped up against the bed. Mom was kneeling down applying a wet cloth to my forehead. Dennis was standing behind Mom with a big grin on his face. Turns out, while I was taking a bath, Dennis moved the bed to the other side of the room. He planned the growl, hoping that I’d take the bait and come charging toward the bed. He didn’t anticipate me being dumb enough to actually make a dive in the dark. Everything happened better than he planned.

I’ve had a lot of knocks to the skull, but this was the only time I remember knocking myself out. The reason I consider the bedroom injury as being more hurtful than the racquetball injury has to do with the humiliation. A lot of people have accidentally run into a wall or two. But, no one with even a smidgen of common sense would think to dive into a dark room. I was the mayor of Dumb Kid Town. It was obvious to me that Mom was having trouble holding back her laughter. One time, she turned her head to scold Dennis for laughing, but I could tell that she was giggling the whole time.

I couldn’t recall playing Monopoly, so Dennis told me that he had pretty well beaten me. Sounded about right. I don’t know that I ever beat my big brother at anything. However, as soon as I heal up, I’m going to get him on the racquetball court and show him a thing or two… assuming Stu, I mean Dr. Wetzel, let’s me play again.