tom waits and robert wilson broke my ankle
The posters advertising The Black Rider are up all over Los Angeles. I am sure the show will be amazing. My reaction is bittersweet when I see them though.
Back in 2002 I had a lovely sixth row center single ticket to see Woyzeck (Woyzeck was another Robert Wilson/Tom Waits collaboration, as is Black Rider). I had fought and fought with the now former husband about me seeing the show. We fought because he thought $72.00 was a stupid amount of money to spend on theater. We fought because he would have to watch our son. We fought because my needs and wants were unimportant to him. The fight came after I had bought my single ticket though because I knew if I asked, I would have lost the battle against his angry 'no'.
I was quarter past excited the night of the show. I think my last night out to see something I had interest in was in 1999, so I was long overdue to see something that nurtured my needs. I remember getting quite dolled up. Flower in my hair, nails painted red, and off I went to UCLA for my night out! I paid my $7.00 to the parking lot attendant, threw my truck in park and headed for the theater. As I was walking (briskly because I was so thrilled to be out doing something I wanted) I missed seeing the speed bump in my path. I stubbed the top of the speed bump with my right foot which somehow sent me flying. I mean, flying - no feet on the ground flying. I caught my fall with my left foot, fishtailed my leg inside of my engineer boot and heard a nasty twisting/snapping/crunching sound. I remember watching my lucite purse noisily bounce and skid ahead of me while I sat in the pile of my landing. There were about fifteen or so people around me, heading to the same show. They sort of collectively gasped and walked towards me. A man asked if I was alright and I told him "I think I broke my ankle". The crowd stepped back a few feet. A lady asked if I needed some help, while another yanked on her dates arm saying 'Hurry, we'll miss the show'. I asked nice lady if she could help me stand up. I wanted to see if I could put any weight on the ankle. At that point I really still hoped to see the show. Nice lady helped me to my feet and I found I could put a little bit of weight on it, which seemed like a good sign. I asked if she could help get me to my seat & she obliged. Off we went with me putting most of my weight on her. This went on for about fifty yards or so when I realized that there was no way I could make it to my seat, much less sit through a two hour play. I gave her my sixth row center seat (she was there alone too) and told her to take my seat and give away hers since my ticket was better. She was really hesitant, but what else could I do? I had visions of trying to sit through the show, then the pain kicks in and I have to get help to get me out of there. I hobbled back to my truck which thankfully was an automatic & started driving back to Burbank to my assigned hospital. Somewhere along Sunset Boulevard the pain kicked in along with my panic. I called my (now ex) husband and remember screaming about the pain and that I was sure I couldn't make it to Burbank from West Los Angeles. He told me later that after seeing me bust the same ankle years before on a dirtbike (I had to ride the bike back to our campsite & didn't go to the doctors until the next day) and recover from a c-section when our son was born, staying pretty calm both times, that he knew I had really hurt myself. I u-turned on Sunset and headed for UCLA Medical Center.
I had broken both tibula and fibula and torn a ligament between the two. Surgery was required to put in the hardware to set the bones. Three months on crutches because I could not put any weight on the ankle until the ligament healed. After the three months, another surgery (minor) to remove the screw that was holding the ligament in place. Then I was allowed to put some weight on the ankle and begin my physical therapy. In those three months I figured out that vicodin was a friend and an enemy. It sure helped the pain but it also made me depressed and constipated. I have always been a think the best/be positive type of gal, but on vicodin I felt like 'I'll never get better". I had to remind myself that it wasn't life threatening, just some broken bones, and to get over it...
A couple of years after the initial injury, the hardware started bothering me. It was limiting the movement of my ankle. Bumping my ankle with the hardware against anything was quite uncomfortable. Another surgery to remove all the hardware and the healing continues.
My Mom said recently, that breaking my ankle was what helped me (and her) realize that I had married the wrong man. I saw more of his true unkind self when he was upset that he had to pick up the slack at home. He'd say things like "How much longer until you can drive yourself to work"? I remember him being mad at me for having to pick up the groceries at the store which I had shopped for online. My Mom stayed with us for a week after the first surgery. She helped with the cooking, cleaning, shopping and all other household chores. (Soon to be ex) husband chewed her out for 'doing the laundry wrong'. My Mom had some inkling before this incident, that I had married a not so nice guy. His attitude towards her for helping us cemented her beliefs. Breaking my ankle was a blessing. When I told my Mom my reasons for leaving, she had seen firsthand how critical and unkind he was. Instead of my announcement being a big surprise to my Mom, it was a 'what took you so long'.
When the doctors asked if I wanted to keep the hardware, I figured my son would want to see it. He was very interested in the x-rays, so I thought seeing the hardware would be neat for him and it was. But I kept the hardware as a souvenir. Not of the missed play at UCLA, but as a souvenir of how a broken ankle helped rescue me.
Back in 2002 I had a lovely sixth row center single ticket to see Woyzeck (Woyzeck was another Robert Wilson/Tom Waits collaboration, as is Black Rider). I had fought and fought with the now former husband about me seeing the show. We fought because he thought $72.00 was a stupid amount of money to spend on theater. We fought because he would have to watch our son. We fought because my needs and wants were unimportant to him. The fight came after I had bought my single ticket though because I knew if I asked, I would have lost the battle against his angry 'no'.
I was quarter past excited the night of the show. I think my last night out to see something I had interest in was in 1999, so I was long overdue to see something that nurtured my needs. I remember getting quite dolled up. Flower in my hair, nails painted red, and off I went to UCLA for my night out! I paid my $7.00 to the parking lot attendant, threw my truck in park and headed for the theater. As I was walking (briskly because I was so thrilled to be out doing something I wanted) I missed seeing the speed bump in my path. I stubbed the top of the speed bump with my right foot which somehow sent me flying. I mean, flying - no feet on the ground flying. I caught my fall with my left foot, fishtailed my leg inside of my engineer boot and heard a nasty twisting/snapping/crunching sound. I remember watching my lucite purse noisily bounce and skid ahead of me while I sat in the pile of my landing. There were about fifteen or so people around me, heading to the same show. They sort of collectively gasped and walked towards me. A man asked if I was alright and I told him "I think I broke my ankle". The crowd stepped back a few feet. A lady asked if I needed some help, while another yanked on her dates arm saying 'Hurry, we'll miss the show'. I asked nice lady if she could help me stand up. I wanted to see if I could put any weight on the ankle. At that point I really still hoped to see the show. Nice lady helped me to my feet and I found I could put a little bit of weight on it, which seemed like a good sign. I asked if she could help get me to my seat & she obliged. Off we went with me putting most of my weight on her. This went on for about fifty yards or so when I realized that there was no way I could make it to my seat, much less sit through a two hour play. I gave her my sixth row center seat (she was there alone too) and told her to take my seat and give away hers since my ticket was better. She was really hesitant, but what else could I do? I had visions of trying to sit through the show, then the pain kicks in and I have to get help to get me out of there. I hobbled back to my truck which thankfully was an automatic & started driving back to Burbank to my assigned hospital. Somewhere along Sunset Boulevard the pain kicked in along with my panic. I called my (now ex) husband and remember screaming about the pain and that I was sure I couldn't make it to Burbank from West Los Angeles. He told me later that after seeing me bust the same ankle years before on a dirtbike (I had to ride the bike back to our campsite & didn't go to the doctors until the next day) and recover from a c-section when our son was born, staying pretty calm both times, that he knew I had really hurt myself. I u-turned on Sunset and headed for UCLA Medical Center.
I had broken both tibula and fibula and torn a ligament between the two. Surgery was required to put in the hardware to set the bones. Three months on crutches because I could not put any weight on the ankle until the ligament healed. After the three months, another surgery (minor) to remove the screw that was holding the ligament in place. Then I was allowed to put some weight on the ankle and begin my physical therapy. In those three months I figured out that vicodin was a friend and an enemy. It sure helped the pain but it also made me depressed and constipated. I have always been a think the best/be positive type of gal, but on vicodin I felt like 'I'll never get better". I had to remind myself that it wasn't life threatening, just some broken bones, and to get over it...
A couple of years after the initial injury, the hardware started bothering me. It was limiting the movement of my ankle. Bumping my ankle with the hardware against anything was quite uncomfortable. Another surgery to remove all the hardware and the healing continues.
My Mom said recently, that breaking my ankle was what helped me (and her) realize that I had married the wrong man. I saw more of his true unkind self when he was upset that he had to pick up the slack at home. He'd say things like "How much longer until you can drive yourself to work"? I remember him being mad at me for having to pick up the groceries at the store which I had shopped for online. My Mom stayed with us for a week after the first surgery. She helped with the cooking, cleaning, shopping and all other household chores. (Soon to be ex) husband chewed her out for 'doing the laundry wrong'. My Mom had some inkling before this incident, that I had married a not so nice guy. His attitude towards her for helping us cemented her beliefs. Breaking my ankle was a blessing. When I told my Mom my reasons for leaving, she had seen firsthand how critical and unkind he was. Instead of my announcement being a big surprise to my Mom, it was a 'what took you so long'.
When the doctors asked if I wanted to keep the hardware, I figured my son would want to see it. He was very interested in the x-rays, so I thought seeing the hardware would be neat for him and it was. But I kept the hardware as a souvenir. Not of the missed play at UCLA, but as a souvenir of how a broken ankle helped rescue me.
posted by Trouble In Mind at 12:07 AM
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