Jump...high...in the air

I’m definitely hooked on this CrossFit thing. I’ve been doing it since last Fall but that was only outside in a park. The “box” (Crossfit term for gym location) that I belong too only officially found indoor space in January.

Today was the first day where my whole struggle was mental. I was attempting to test my first box jump height. I felt like a little kid trying to learn how to ride a bike or dive in a pool. The only thing keeping from jumping my max height was fear. Don’t let this video fool you. It took me 15 mins to do this jump. And clearly I physically could easily do it but it was a total mental block & fear.

A patient Coach Katie waited & got the final silly moment on video.

Once when feeling perplexed about life, the drama of work, money & daily life struggles, I simply blurted out a statement to my 2 year old son - “Q, (short for Quintin), What should Daddy do?” It was a general open-ended philosophical question. He turned away from watching Elmo, paused, and responded instantly, confidently and without hesitation- “Jump…(pause) high…(pause) in the air”

The kid is right. Just jump. Just leap. Reach high, take a chance. It applies figuratively and literally. You have to attempt the leap at many things in life but also sometimes just physically jumping is damn fun. Just ask any 2 year old. Jump high, have fun.

Back in Black

What is more alarming?  When I was walking down the street and some random guy on a bench, with “Back in Black” blasting on a small amplifier behind him, yelled “AC-DC, 1979 !!!” at me - or-  How quickly, without hesitation, I rebuked him and said “1980 !”  

The Ninetieth by Don Fitzpatrick

This is a really awesome poem written by my father for his brother Gerard's 90th birthday.  I'm really proud of both of them.  They are both amazing guys and tremendous role models exemplifying toughness, knowledge, health and all around great character. Oh yeah, I made the type of the poem a little bigger. If you are my dad and uncle's age, a bigger font is greatly appreciated.

The Ninetieth

This is all about Gerard, Jerry to you

So let’s try to capture these years in review.

It started on Prospect, the street by name,

1908 by number, untarnished by fame,

We lived in a house red brick and attractive.

It was well maintained and a nice place to live.

Five stories up and sixty-two steps down

My God how an elevator would have given it renown.

We were a family of four, due to Dad’s early demise;

Raymond and Gerard and me of small size.

Gerard took to the street like an Olympic athlete;

It was stickball and football and roller hockey too

Any game that you can he played in the street.

He got in no trouble at St. Thomas Acquinas

An altar boy in white surplus and red cassock

But the black-frocked nuns gave him B Minus

So he joined the hoopsters and they were the finest

It was on to high school on Moshula Parkway.

De Witt Clinton by name, labeled in fame

Spanish and Math consumed the long day

Those subjects were required to make a good living

The times were bad; you needed a job that would pay.

And Mother struggled hard at the top of that house

She knew how to make pot roast last for a week

Putting wash on the clothes line so high in the air 

And garbage on the dumbwaiter before it could reek,

And war clouds arrived to give us a scare.

Raymond was exempt he was our sole support

And Gerard joined Equitable Life.  His stay was short

For the navy called, they would teach him to fly

They trained him intensely, his first post at RPI

Then Banana River, Georgia Tech, Minneapolis too.

He wrote to mother like a good son should

I read the letters when she was through.

I memorized names and events too.

I was a kid in awe of my big brother

And I could hardly wait to sail the big blue.

He was off to the Pacific where the events were horrific.

He was a radio gunner on a bulky PBY.

They flew over a tragedy on the way to their station

And took their place in defending this nation.

Some months passed, they went out on patrol

Then a typhoon caught them, they went into the drink

But a destroyer came by before they could sink

The war neared its end,  the U.S gained control.

At home Raymond married and left for the army

And I was now the wage earner

At seventeen years I awaited my call-up to the army as well

But my big brother was a sailor and I changed my plan

Joined the navy too and that was just swell.

I left before he returned but I remember his letter

Advising me on life away from the home

Keep your hat squared, obey the bosun

Choose your friends carefully – it was just like a poem

And  his last caution -  Remember you’re a Catholic.  

We both returned through God’s good graces

And he began to date a girl named Patricia

And soon the bells rang and they began life’s traces    

In Long Island they settled and were off to the races.

So how long can this trite missal continue?

You know that you’re all part of the story.

For a life is not just made of years.

It’s footsteps in the sand, one after the other

In a strait line looking forward to the next.

So here are the footsteps we all love so well

To John and Nancy and Diane too, to Patty and Kathy

We can’t forget Robert; a crew that’s real swell

Then the next footsteps make their place in the sand

They’re contributions just grand.

To Kevin and Kathleen and Kerry in one group

Now on to the next in one swell foop

To Kerin and Meagan and Brianne they’re part of the loop

And Janine and Brendan, hold onto your hats 

There’s still Christopher and Mathew; I think that’s the end,

But there’s so many little ones just round the bend

And Carol and I have been privileged to share

So many gatherings and journeys in fun,

Starting with Willow Dell and Chestnut Grove 

Where James and Rob – a rowboat they stove.

The Grand Canyon and the QE2, to Portugal we went 

And let’s not forget Ireland. To Scotland and Alaska

To name just a few and Christenings and Weddings,

It’s been quite a blast.

If there’s a proverb to sum up to celebrate this day

Just join me in words to dedicate this way.

There are four cardinal sins – Lying, Stealing, Swearing and Drinking.

So if you must lie, lie in the arms of your Creator

And if you must steal, steal away from bad companions.

If you must swear, swear allegiance to your flag.

And if you must drink, lift your glasses with me 

To toast Gerard – a son, a brother, a husband, a father, 

A grandfather, a great grandfather, a father-in-law

And the best thing of all – just a grand guy.         

Donald Fitzpatrick

February 16,  2013
©2013 Donald Fitzpatrick

I Think I Almost Died

I THINK I ALMOST DIED

Why is it that I always seem to blog about something tragic?

For some reason those intense moments in life that usually involve danger give me inspiration to write.  I've drafted countless blog entries on positive subjects but they usually end up sucking. So here's another blog entry that involves potential personal/bodily injury and/or near death. I almost died in a car accident.

ICY MORNING

5:45am: My phone alarm rang and off I was to the gym.  Well, I don't technically go to a gym.  It's really a "box." (I recently started getting into Crossfit- Plug Heroes Journey Crossfit Lake Parsippany to be exact) and I am really digging it, but that's another blog entry, I suppose.- Which is fitting because I do find Crossfit also often involves physical/bodily pain, for me at least)

It was a rare morning because normally I am super excited to get up and Crossfit (I'm so into it I use "Crossfit" as a verb now too).  I know, it's sounds freaky right?  Who would want to get up at 5:43 am? (Yes I always wake up 2 mins before my alarm)  I was pretty excited because the Workout of the Day (WOD) involved some kipping pull-ups and some other cool exercises like knees to ankles on the bar (this is just like it sounds; with good form, lift your knees to your ankles while you are hanging from your hands on a pull-up bar. The kipping pull ups I'm still working on)  So that morning was odd because honestly, I debated if I should go.  We were hit with some inclement weather that was not really predicted.  I figured the short drive would be slow, sloppy, messy and just plain annoying.  But I powered through it because that's kind of my modus operandi,  I'm a planner and I need to stay on schedule.  If I planned on doing something, I just have to do it or else the universe gets out of order.  I had committed to the 6:15 WOD so I had to go.

Off I went out the door into about 1.5 inches of icy wet snow.  I had to warm up my car for about 7 minutes but I wasn't in a super rush, I had plenty of time.  I got on Interstate 80 then 287 South.  The "box" is the first exit off of Rt. 287 once I get on that highway.  While it is two interstates, it's a quick ride.

While on 287 I needed to be in the far right lane because the exit is the first one.  Now everyone knows the far right lane is the worst lane in crappy weather.  No one drives in that lane on bad weather days so the slush is always extra thick.  However, things were generally fine.  I was moving along but nothing crazy and not too fast.  (Trust me there have been plenty of other times when I was going speeds that deserve a crash.  This was not one of those times) To the left of me came an 18-wheeler.  He was probably going a little faster than he should have been but I won't blame him.  As he came alongside of me, I was doused with a smattering of spraying ice, water, slush and who knows what else.  It was shaking my car and covering it, I could barely see.  Then I made the first mistake, which I should know to never do in snowy weather, I applied a little bit of brake.  My 2007 Ford Escape Hybrid (I'm so eco-friendly) got a little loose but I recovered by letting up on the brake.   I then thought the better option was to apply a little acceleration to get ahead of the spray.  And it worked, well getting ahead of the spray worked, that is.

LOSING CONTROL

I got just a little ahead of the truck and her splattering slush.  Then I felt it.  Now I was getting loose again, pretty much hydroplaning.  I knew it was over.  There was nothing more I could do.  The car drifted left a little ahead of the truck, I tried to straighten out, lost control, started spinning back towards the shoulder and I knew I was headed straight for the side guardrail and sound wall head-on.  I didn't brace for impact.  I did the opposite, I just went dead, limp and relaxed like when your are on a roller coaster.  I think that helped tremendously.

We (just me and the car, I couldn't imagine having this accident with my wife or son in the car) hit hard then tumbled over and slid around a lot.  I was a bit disoriented but I was sure my upside down vehicle was facing oncoming traffic. It was dark, the car was sitting on her roof leaning forward and the side airbags were blocking both side windows.  I seemed relatively unaffected from the actual crash but at that moment I truly felt, "OK this is where I die" I was just waiting for a tractor trailer or another vehicle to nail me.  Of course, I couldn't' see anything but I felt like they were coming.

Generally, I am a cool collected individual who stays somewhat calm in stressful situations but I won't lie, being upside down facing oncoming traffic, seat-buckled inside my vehicle in the middle of an interstate was a little concerning.  I was able to unbuckle myself, fall to the ceiling and get my bearings.  I was able to crack the passenger side door open and see towards the highway's shoulder to where I perceived I could exit safely.  First I crawled around a little because I wanted to find my phone to call for help, my wife and Crossfit to tell them I naturally was not going to make the 6:15am WOD.  During that crawl is when I think I received my only injury, I got a paper-like cut on my knee from rummaging in the glass.  Another disadvantage of wearing exercise shorts on a 30 degree day.

Soon after, someone was calling me from outside, "Are you OK" to which I surprisingly said "Yeah I actually think I'm fine."  "Can you get out?" he called "Yeah just help me pry this door open" I responded.  And out I walked into the 2 inch frozen slush.  I was fairly cold so I still wasn't sure if the cold numbness was just masking an injury.  As time went on, I confirmed, I was OK.  The look on the passerby who pulled over was just as surprised.

Got out !

I'M OUT

It seemed like it took forever for a State Trooper to come. Another guy had pulled over and let me hang in his car and stay warm.  "You're OK?" he surprisingly said? My phone was all jacked up too but it was still working at first. When the first State Trooper arrived, he also was very surprised that the guy from the accident was walking around outside the vehicle unaffected.  He obviously wanted to see my driver's license but it was in the car.  I told him I could go back in and get it but I was a little shocked when he let me.  He also seemed a little flustered that I didn't' have the insurance card which I offered to go back in the car to look for.  Although he told me not to bother, he paused longer than I thought he should have to give that obvious response.

Upside down on Route 287, facing oncoming traffic

THE WORLD'S BEST PANCAKES?

Another trooper arrived, then an hour or so later the tow truck scooped the poor Escape onto the truck bed, still upside down.   I was mislead to believe the tow truck could drop me off at the Box and I could still make the 7:15 WOD and call my wife to pick me up.  I still hadn't called her because I knew she was still asleep and there was no need to worry anyone.  Much to my surprise the tow truck would only take me to the tow yard.  He asked me tons of questions.  "You didn't hit anyone else?" "You don't have any injuries?"  "No one else hit you?".  Again I surprisingly confirmed all of them.  By now my phone was totally unresponsive so I couldn't call anyone.  I eventually persuaded the driver to drop me off at the Broadway Diner in Summit, NJ.  I also wanted to try that diner.  They have a huge sign "World's Best Pancakes."  I went in and got a funny look from the owner.  Was it the exercise shorts?,  The small blood on my knee from the glass?, Or just my disheveled look?  I explained my situation and he allowed me to use the phone.  I called my wife, did the whole "I'm safe and fine but…" routine.  At first, when she realized I wasn't home and a strange phone number was calling, she thought I was dead.  I just thought it was better to wait until I show her the pictures.  (Naturally I took pictures of my SUV upside down on the highway) I sat at the counter of the diner, I love doing that.  The waitress was pleasant and I debated going with the protein heavy eggs and bacon or the unholy anti-paleo pancakes (Yep, another Crossfit reference).  The sign on the diner says: "WORLD'S BEST PANCAKES."  I asked the waitress, "Are they really the World's Best Pancakes?" to which she paused and said, "They're pretty good" But wait, she didn't' really say they were the "World's Best".  I ordered them and yes, they were good but the world's best?  Not quite.  That's quite a tall order to live up to.   My wife arrived generally in a good mental state and we slowly drove home. Then I began to coordinate all the insurance calls, work calls and inconveniences of having a major car accident.

Broadway Diner, Summit NJ (image courtesy of the Summit Patch)

SHE GAVE HER LIFE FOR MINE

The next day I was able to get to the junk yard and collect my belongings from the car.  My God, she was banged up.  OK, she was dead.  What a weird feeling.  I've never anthropomorphized something so much.  She became human.  A friend who took the bullet, or guardrail, for me.  It was like she gave her life for mine.  The auto body guy asked cautiously if I was in the car as if he was being sensitive perhaps thinking it was a sore subject or almost like he was concerned someone died.  I confirmed and assured him I was fine.  He gave the same look the guys on the side of the road, state troopers, and tow truck driver gave.  I rummaged through the car and got more injuries from cleaning things out amongst all the broken glass than I did in the accident.  The ceiling was crushed, there was glass everywhere, everything was smooshed.  There was a ton of crap in there that I never even realized had been collecting.  I left most of it to rest in peace with my beloved green baby Ford.

Driver's Side

Squashed

NOW WHAT?

Everyone says, "You're going to feel it in a few days."  They are referring to back, neck and other physical soreness.  However, I haven't had any of that.  It is like no one believes I am fine.  I really didn't get hurt.  Although now days later I'll admit I suffer from the mental complexity.  I can't help but think about it all.  The crash, the survival of it, the improbability of being unscathed, and why?  Trust me, I realized millions get in accidents, much worse than this.  Many people suffer traumatic events much greater.  But even this incident has me, days later, wondering.  Why I am still here?  Why did I survive?  Why do others not?  What would have happened if I didn't?  How did I miss the truck? How did no other car hit me?  Who knows?  It has made me reevaluate so much in life. It has made me appreciate some friends that I didn't realize were so awesome.  It's made me notice how fragile life is. (I know that's a major cliche but it is true)

I made it to the WOD that evening and it was the most rewarding WOD I've ever done.  It wasn't some great personal record for time or some huge physical accomplishment but it meant more to me than another other. I had to do it, I was supposed to do it that morning and I needed to right the universe by doing it that day.  (BTW You have to love Crossfit coaches that were wiling to come pick you up to take me to the WOD when you insist you want to come-Thanks for the offer Steve.)  Hell, the lesson here is simple.  No excuses. You can't let anything stand in your way, not even near-death.  You have to move on.  So you crash? Get up, walk away and try again, Right?  And one other thing - 

Thanks God or the guardian angel or the mathematic probability of the cosmos or whatever enabled me to hit a guardrail on a major interstate, flip my car, spin around, land facing on-coming traffic on a icy slushy dark morning and walk away with nothing more than a Sesame Street band-aid required, applied by my 2-year-old son when I got home.  It's good to be alive.  And it's better to appreciate it more than ever.  Life matters.  Drive safe.

The Ray Bans survived.

Before It's Too Late

So I've had this blog for a while and obviously I don't post nearly enough. Every time I do, I think to myself, "I need to do this more". I almost feel if I am not writing something on it, I'm not experiencing much in life. If life can't inspire me to write something then what kind of a life is it?

Well I suppose something has inspired me, although, inspiration isn't always exciting and happy. Sometimes life sucks. Actually, I don't believe that. I hate those shirts that say, "Life is crap", I hate when people say "FML". I won’t argue that life is easy or life is perfect but ultimately life just is. And sadly, all life….ends. -Hence this post.

Several months ago a friend of mine emailed me that a former co-worker of ours that had been diagnosed with Cancer (I capitalize the word because for many of us, Cancer is personal.) There wasn't much info in the email but it indicated our former colleague "Patrick" (not his real name) had a tough ride ahead and was relocating to New England for better treatment. I worked with Patrick a lot over the years. We weren't that close but certainly had known each other well. He was a really nice guy, good to work with and happily married with 2 kids. I was totally shocked to hear the news and definitely felt horrible. I said to myself "I need to call him." Earlier this year I lost a friend to a suicide. It was someone I hadn’t talked to in about 8-12 months. We had busy lives so we often went months without being in touch. For several months, I often thought, “I need to catch up with Greg” (also not his real name). -But I didn’t. Then it was too late. I had no idea he had suffered from mental illness. I felt horrible for not staying in touch. I couldn’t procrastinate reaching out to a friend again.

It seems that everyone has encountered Cancer somehow in his or her life. Perhaps personally or from a family member or friend. Unlike life, Cancer sucks. Cancer is the opposite of life. I f**king hate Cancer, -with good reason.

I've always had a difficult time explaining to people about neighbors I had growing up. We were very close with the family next door. But people don't really grasp how close. When I say close, I really mean close. They were like family. I considered them second parents. Their daughters were and still are like older sisters. I love my real parents but Stan and Terri next door were a complement to them. I suppose it’s like the way some might feel about their grandparents. Except my neighbors were younger than my parents.

The point of the relationship is this. Stan ended up with Cancer fairly young. Stan was a big guy, handy and could fix anything. He seemed to be able to do anything. Within 6 months I watched my hero, Stan, be completely destroyed by Cancer. He went from a strong able man to a frail old victim in months. I would have never thought I would have to help Stan walk. I would have never thought I would have to order him to take vitamins, because he was always the boss. I would have never thought I would have to physically pick Stan up in order to get him into a car to go to chemo. I would have never thought I’d see Stan look to me for help. I would have never thought anything could beat Stan. I also would have never ever thought I would see Stan weep like a child. But it all happened because of Cancer. I f**king hate Cancer. When Stan battled it, I really considered it my fight too. I’ll always feel that I lost that fight. I hate losing. I expect I'll have another match with Cancer again someday, somehow. It’s a horrible disease that affects so many, so often.

When you go through a Cancer battle, you tend to remember it, It kind of sticks with you. Until recently thinking of Stan was one of few things I could think of in life that could muster a tear to my eye. (More recently, being a fairly new father I find there are other things that can make me a little funny in the eyes, mostly related to my 14-month old son who is awesome! But those are good tears) Because of Stan's battle I really wanted to call Patrick to let him know there were people out there he made an impression on and were thinking about him.

Typically, my life was "busy". The idea of calling Patrick in a few days became weeks then months. Finally, one night at about 3am, when I normally wake up with crazy stuff racing in my head, it hit me that I need to stop wasting time and contact Patrick. The next day, I tried the numbers my friend had given in the email. There were two, one was disconnected, the other was a direct line to a hospital room but the automated response said the person was no longer there. I started to panic. Was I too late? How could I procrastinate about this? Do I not remember how difficult it is for a family to go through? A simple phone call from a distant co-worker could really brighten a day. I reached the hospital operator who connected me somewhere else. Then I was connected somewhere else again and again. Eventually, I was talking to the "records" department. It didn't sound good. It made me feel like it was too late. I got nowhere.

Over the next few days I continued to look up phone numbers and area centers where "Patrick" might be saying but no result. Then I remembered some of the conversations he and I had about his wife and family. It turned out Patrick had a really interesting life. He & his wife owned several properties and even a coffee shop in Canada. I was able to find that shop on Facebook, then his wife's name (she still used her maiden name) and eventually a Google search got me an email address. I emailed his wife, "Cathy", (again, a fake name) fearing the worst and waited.

Days later there was a note in my inbox. To make a long story short, Patrick was still fighting along. Cathy thanked me for the email and was so appreciative for all the people that were reaching out. Patrick was in tough shape but she was going to pass along the email and she hoped to get him back online in a few weeks. Sure enough weeks later, I received an email from Patrick. It was light and conversational, just like his nature always was. He acknowledged it was a tough fight and he was honest about his future. Patrick mentioned just what I expected; the email meant a lot to him. I suppose there is a little self-interest in this whole ordeal because I needed to feel the satisfaction of knowing I was able to get to Patrick. It was an important step for me to remember a small gesture can make a difference. It was some sort of closure. And while that small gesture may end up taking a little bit of work, It is worth it. His response did something for me.

As of this posting, Patrick is receiving hospice care and not expected to make it through the end of the week. Throughout this week I have often paused and wondered, “has he gone yet?” By trade Patrick was a writer. Friend, it's only fitting that you inspired me to write something on a blog that I don't nearly write on enough. It’s the least I could do. So I write this:

Don’t ever hesitate to reach out to a friend. You never know when it will be too late.

Thank you Patrick and rest peacefully my friend. Rest peacefully.

How I Lost My Finger To Pro Wrestling

"Can I take a bump?" I asked. I had never even been in a wrestling ring before. I wanted to feel what it was like to hit the mat. There was an immediate accepting look in my friend Jaime's eye. Jaime is also known as the Jersey Devil in wrestling circles. I think I gained some credibility by using the term "bump", it was wrestling lingo for a fall or hard landing. But I gained more credibility by taking that bump from via an immediate high leap in the air, quick flip, and hard crash right to the mat flat on my back. It's what I expected, the ring had a little give but the impact could still be felt. After I took my “bump”, Jamie was impressed and we were ready to move on to our task at hand- Teaching me how to get "jackhammered". Essentially a move that would have me lifted upside down with my body straight up in the air, my toes probably capping just under the 12 ft mark and a hard crash to the mat.

THE REHEARSAL

I was in my former high school's gym just before the doors opened for a charity professional wrestling match benefitting a deceased classmate’s scholarship fund. Marty Boryczewski was working in the Twin Towers on 9/11 and was a victim of the attacks. This event was a benefit for Friends of Marty. The Jersey Devil, Jamie Pitaro, is also a former classmate of mine. We had gotten reacquainted in recent years especially after I learned Jamie worked semi-pro as a wrestler. He had some runs in the WWE and other organizations and now wrestled through his own promotion, D2Wrestling. I'm not that much of a wrestling groupie but I definitely consider it a guilty pleasure. Something I always liked as a kid and kept a little quiet from most of my friends. However the event was my chance. I always joked with Jamie about coming in the ring at one of his events and getting slammed or even something more intense like the jackhammer. So the benefit was perfect. It was in my high school, my hometown, Denville NJ, and it was for charity. We even had an "angle" worked out. (Angle is wrestling term for storyline).

THE ANGLE

I'm a Councilman in Denville so Jamie thought I should come into the ring as a "heel" (wrestling talk for bad guy) and demand the event be shut down because they didn't have the proper paperwork, etc. Naturally the Jersey Devil is a "face" (good guy). It was a great angle although we revised it slightly. I wasn't ready to actually play myself in the ring, especially as a heel. That certainly wouldn't help the re-election campaign someday. So a slight revision had me playing the part of a state official that was shutting the event down. It was still brilliant.

But let's get back to rehearsing before the event. I was ready for the jackhammer. Pretty simple, Jaime grabs my neck and I jump up and push off from his knee. Sticking my legs straight up as high as I can is the true art of the maneuver. This enables Jaime to hold me up there flawlessly forever. After that hold, we come crashing down. We gave it a shot. Slam! down to the mat I go. Not too bad but I didn't extend my legs enough. We try a few times just the jump and without Jaime actually slamming me and then we do another with the slam down. The second one was a little harder fall but apparently looked great. After I landed, I did recognize, "wow, if you do this a lot, it could start to hurt or I could even see how you could get a concussion” but I only needed to take one more. The doors were going to open in 30 minutes. Jaime sent me on my way and I hurried home to get into my NJ Sport Commission costume- Basically a blazer, tie and jeans.

THE EVENT

As soon as the event began, I rushed the ring from a chair in the audience and interrupted, as planned. I worked the mic a little and got the crowd hating me like any good heel would. I insulted the ring announcer, the audience and anyone else who got in my view then I demand to see who's in charge!

CUE Jersey Devil's theme song.

Of course, I acted surprised with the famous surprise look that all wrestlers do. Jaime came out and we banter on the mic like any good wrestling angle. I acted slightly frightened with the "I don't want any trouble" act that wrestlers also do. "I just don't want anybody to get hurt", I exclaim to the Jersey Devil. (That was the cue) The Jersey Devil paused and looked to the crowd who were cheering, "slam him”! He then looked at me then gave me low kick to my stomach, I dropped my fake state papers and up I went for the jackhammer. It was gorgeous. I held my legs perfectly straight and he had me held up there for what seemed like an hour. And the Jersey Devil brought me down harder than ever. I hit the mat hard. I knew when we landed it looked great. I did the standard "ouch my back" move and I slowly lumbered to the side of the ring where my friends were supposed to escort my injured body out. As I rolled over I felt a little scrape near my hand, saw a little blood and thought I must have scraped my finger. These were my next thoughts:

"Uh Oh"

"That's worse than a scrape"

"My wife's going to kill me"

"Expletive"

"Wow that's really bad"

"Expletive, I hope Jaime doesn't add more improv moves to this routine"

"Ok, don't let anyone see it"

"Expletive"

"Wendy's (wife) going to kill me"

The top of my right pinky finger was twisted and hanging off. While I was telling myself it was just the skin of my pink, I saw the broken bone sticking out on the portion that wasn't hanging off. I knew deep inside, it was bad. It must have come between my body, Jaime and the mat. However, this was professional wrestling! The term "kayfabe" echoed in my head. That means, “stay in character”. It was actually all I could do. There was no first aid at the event, the audience was filled with little kids and I couldn’t alarm anyone. All I could do was mask the injury and stumble out of the ring. As soon as I did, I immediately whispered to my friend, John, who was still in awe of how well I took the jackhammer, "Ok, I really (expletive)-ed up my finger, we have to go the hospital” And away we went, still masking the real injury while I faked an injury to my back. That made it easy to hold my hand behind me as we exited the gym.

(VIDEO FOOTAGE OF EVENT - you can see me notice the injury as I leave the ring, then whisper to my friend that we have to go to the hospital)

THE HOSPITAL

Luckily the hospital is only 2 minutes from my old high school. As soon as I enter the ER, the purple-haired check-in girl is impressed. Some of the other nurses are impressed too. "How'd you do that?” -a question that I'd have to get used to. I wanted to make up some really cool story like I was attacked by a shark, or I saved children from a collapsing church, but I then realized --the real story already rocked pretty hard!!! At this point, I still believed they could just re-attach the finger and stitch me up. After I saw the ER doctor, I start to worry just a little. He basically said, he couldn't do anything with it and was calling a hand surgeon, which could take anywhere from 2-4 hours. So I sat and waited with a bleeding hand and the tip of my pinky hanging off. We must have just landed right on the tip of my finger when we came down on the mat, and it just snapped right off.

The nurses were continuously interested in how this happened and my friend John then showed them video. As proud as I was of such an impressive accident, I had to interrupt at one point. "Can I get some pain medication?" I had made it a good hour before receiving any pain meds but now I was ready. You know the pain medication is good stuff when they have to give you another medicine just to combat the side effects of the original pain medication. Two and 1/2 hours later, the Hand Specialist arrived. I just figured we'd line up the Operating Room and go into major surgery to re-attach the tip of my finger. But nope, instead I was shocked to hear. "You've essentially self-amputated part of your finger, they best we can do is finish the job" said Dr. Fox, the Hand Specialist. Then I thought this:

-WTF?

-Really?

-Shit, Wendy is going away on business this week and I have to take care of the baby

-OMG, I'm going to be like that creepy guy who taught woodshop and was missing appendages. Everyone hated shaking his hand.

Minutes later, I got a couple of painful needles in my hand and Dr. Fox started cutting and sawing away right there in the ER. I texted and took pictures using my left hand as I watched. I even texted my wife Wendy left-handedly writing, "I don't want to hear it, I've learned my lesson", acknowledging to her that she was right about me getting hurt. (Although, I still think I took the move brilliantly and it was truly a freak accident that could've happened playing football). She was at home during the event and I had called her from the ER just saying I cut my hand. She obviously came to the hospital right away and eventually figured out it was more than a cut. At one point the nurses asked her “are you ok” in reference to hearing the news of losing part of my finger. Her classic tough love response was “It’s not my finger”. I got a huge bandage on my hand and home I went minus 1/3 my pinky. I didn't even get to keep the pinky tip. It was just left in a pile of gauze and bloody rubber gloves. It would have made a great locket insert.

(Arriving at the ER and being bandaged up)

MORE GRAPHIC PICS OF THE INJURY - YOU'VE BEEN WARNED
( FInger Hanging Off Shot 1, Finger Hanging Off Shot 2)

THE AFTERMATH

The next day I woke up, swollen and uncomfortable but managed to avoid the Vicodin I was prescribed. Wendy was completely cordial to me realizing that I needed a little sympathy. She was still not happy or comfortable with leaving me with a 9 month old later in the week while she travelled on business. I thought for sure she wasn’t going to come back and I’d never find another woman. Who’d want to hold my hand with a little stumpy pinky? Two days later that resistance to painkillers broke and I couldn't pop those things fast enough. (Although, after my recovery was complete, I still netted in the positive with a couple of extra Vicodin for a rainy day. )I was still a little worried about getting the rest of the finger infected so I didn't say too much to many people until I could find out everything else was safe. I didn't even tell my parents until over a week later. I kind of figured, my Dad would scold me for being reckless and my Mom would just worry. (Instead when I did finally tell my parents - my Dad seemed to find the story interesting and my Mom was horrified and seemed more concerned that she had a son who was deformed. I actually don't think she ever even asked if I was ok but might have instead asked if a plastic surgeon could put some skin on it to make it look normal. Great priorities. My brothers were shocked and one brother definitely seems to be a little jealous. I’m the youngest and was always the baby, the least tough. But my toughness level was raised 10x when I took a jackhammer, lost a finger and stayed in character –in case I haven’t mentioned that enough. Take that big brother James !)

It turns out, after about 2 weeks, it’s in pretty good shape. One co-worker described my finger as looking like a freshly circumcised penis. (Click here to see shot 2 weeks later) So I think it will take some getting used to. I certainly don’t have nice hands anymore but should get 10% discount off on manicures. Originally the doctor mentioned 4 weeks of physical therapy, but screw that, -that just sounded like a challenge. After 2 weeks I don’t expect to need anything. I’m moving that stumpy little appendage like nobody’s business. I did lose part of a finger but there are people who lose full limbs everyday fighting for our country and other noble causes. Life goes on and I’ll have another great story to tell at dive bars from now on. However, I think I probably will put my short-lived professional wrestling career on the shelf, right next to the spot where I could have put the top of my pinky if I only asked to keep it.

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