That drawing? That’s the surgeon’s rendition of what happened to Billy’s shoulder after being dislocated five times. The top left is a healthy shoulder socket. Come down and over after the injury and the doc’s repair, to the bottom right: Billy’s shoulder ball anchored to the muscle behind it, labrum tendon stitched back down in front. He’d dislocated it so many times that the bone was “defected” with a Hill-Sachs notch requiring those extra strong anchors in the back.
Each time he popped it out, Billy popped it back in himself (cajones) because if it’s left out for an extended period of time that Hill-Sachs defect comes on quickly.
Those little rainbows on his hospital gown? “Racing stripes,” he said.
So, such has been our life for the last two weeks, dealing with eventual inevitable of being a rider: the stress of surgery; the first week of sleepless nights and zombie eyes from the pills; the helplessness; the icing; and then the agonizing antsiness of the recovery weeks once the pain starts to subside. It leaves little time for anything except bike movies and nursing. PT starts in two weeks.
I have great, great respect for mothers, wives and nurses. And for Billy, tough kid. (Truthfully, he’s a veteran to injuries.) But he runs with a tough pack. The rounds of visitors we’ve had all bring stories of blown and broken parts up and down the skeleton. Fortunately, Billy didn’t have the surgery as a result of a big crash—it was just time to get things fixed up. So he doesn’t have to overcome any fear mentally. And he has a lot to look forward to this summer (check out our bike-room below; our master bedroom).
You know when you come home and he’s sitting on the couch in PJs steering handle bars through the air, that spirits are high and the passion is intact—because really, in what we do, injuries are just inevitable.