David Stamm: Me too, though my injuries weren't as severe. Here's a newspaper column I wrote that ended up as an essay in my first book:
THE ROOT OF ALL EVIL
I haven't played golf since the end of October. This is an ironic turn of events, considering that the possibility of year-round play was one of the major factors in our decision to migrate south. When I departed frosty old New England for the Lowcountry, I assumed that my heretofore-standard golf schedule, featuring a Thanksgiving week finale, was a thing of the past. This year however, my pattern is still the same. It's not due to a lack of interest, or a hectic schedule, or nostalgia for my old ways. The reason I'm off the links is as simple as it is unfortunate: I'm injured.
I had the phenomenally bad luck of engaging an inch-thick tree root in a little game of "chicken". This was a mismatch from the opening bell. Tree root in a TKO. I'm not looking for a re-match by any means, but it wasn't a fair fight. This wasn't your standard tree root, lying there plainly visible. Had that been the case I might have declared an unplayable lie, and taken a much despised penalty stroke along with my drop away from the root. Or at
least I would have attempted a thin little defensive shot, holding the club lightly and attempting to play my ball out laterally. Neither of these options were a consideration, because this root was as devious as they come, a real predator. It lay there perfectly camouflaged by a thin layer of autumn leaves, biding its time, patiently waiting for an innocent and unlucky victim. I was happy to have found my ball at all, in what looked like a decent lie, with a reasonable stance, and with an unimpeded line to the green. I took out my three iron and attempted to reach said green, a mere 190 yards away. To make matters worse, my golf swing is rarely compared to those of
Fred Couples or Ernie Els, they of the long and languid swings; swings that look like they are taking place under water. Mine by comparison starts quickly, picks up speed in the middle and ends in a hurried lurch. Tempo isn't my strong suit. My iron came down, met that damned root and stopped dead. It was like kicking a brick wall in sandals.
My right hand vibrated with pain. I walked up the fairway in a daze, knowing full well that I had inflicted some serious damage to my dominant hand. I rode along in the cart until we reached the turn, anticipating the ice bag that would help to alleviate the initial pain. I happened to run into an orthopedist in the grill room, who was pretty sure I hadn't broken any bones, but advised me to come see him in his office later that week.
Since that fateful day many weeks ago, I have been x-rayed, bone scanned, and re-x-rayed. I have used ice, heat, ultrasound, acupuncture, and something called iontopheris. Besides the orthopedist, I have sought help from an osteopath, a masseuse, a hand surgeon and a physical therapist. Note: don't believe anyone who tells you that acupuncture hurts a little. They are wrong. It hurts plenty!
Now almost two months later, my hand doesn't ache or throb, but it’s still weak. I shake hands lefty these days, having been caught in one too many vise grips with my right. The diagnosis is soft tissue damage, and recovery time is measured in months, not weeks.
An injury like this helps to put things in perspective. In the grand scheme of things it really is only a minor setback, but it's hard to maintain composure when it's sunny and 70 degrees on Christmas Day. It isn't easy to admit in print, but since I'm hurt I hope for bad weather. Selfish, I know, but when it's 40 degrees or raining I feel better, because there would be no golf that day regardless.
When this injury has run its course I will walk to the first tee with a brand new attitude, one that will last the rest of my life, or at least until I make my first triple bogey. I will enjoy myself more on the course, and not take for granted the fact that I am healthy and able to play without pain. Fat shots or thin, slices or hooks, shots that are stiff and shots that are sculled. I will savor them all, as long as my hand and wrist hold up at the moment of impact. And one last thing. Arbor Day is now at the top of my list of least favorite holidays.