Tokyo, Part 3-(Prologue/a) The Injury. September 1986, 2nd day back to school, Senior Year MCHS
WARNING: Reading Required. I probably should have done the Social Media version of a mic drop and closed my accounts after my last two posts- but that is a highlight reel, not a story. When I started this I said, at least to myself, that I’d tell how one of the worst days of my life would lead to the best days of my life and the role Japan and training would play. That day starts below.
I remember a bright white flash, I remember a feeling like somebody put a nail gun to my head, and then passing out. From the pain. That happened a lot during the first month- passing out from pain. Coming to in the Torrance Memorial ER I remember looking over at the instrument table and seeing a bag with a label that read “Lumbar Puncture Kit” and thinking to myself, “Well that’s not good…”
The day was the first preseason wrestling practice up in the Mira Costa gym weight room. I was genuinely pumped to be back at school. I had a great summer surfing and was ready for wrestling season. We had a strong team (J. Bass, R. Whitington, D. Burdick, etc) and with hard work gave myself a chance of at least placing at CIF. It was supposed to be a good year.
Back in the ER the nurses put me in the fetal position and the doctor slide the needle into my spine. Then for second time that day, I passed out. The spinal tap would come back clear- they were looking for blood in my cerebrospinal fluid, which would indicate a possible brain bleed. Had that been the case I might not be typing this. Cleared from that they began more diagnostics: x-rays, CT scans, etc. Everything came back negative for anything life-threatening. I don’t remember when I was released or how I got home.
This process would repeat itself over and over-I would try to move, sit up or get out of bed, then the white flash, the nail gun, then I’d pass out. My parents were distraught, but didn’t show it. Not knowing what was going on was probably the worst part. I think after about five days my parents let some friends, Darren (White) and Steve (Pedrotti), visit. I wasn’t much company. They had bought me some CD’s to listen to, but even listening to music was too difficult. To this day I get an odd feeling when Duran Duran’s “Planet Earth” starts playing. Bummer because I like that song- great bass line.
Over the next several months I’d go through what seemed like dozens of tests, procedures and appointments. No one, not the ER docs, not the neurosurgeons, not the family docs, not the osteopaths, and not even the shrink (yep, one of too) could help. Functionally paralyzed, I was stuck.
Series Tokyo 