Real Stories, Real Life, Real Pain

I do like the look on people's faces.

My right arm is in a sling, wrapped in layers of Ace bandage, a hard plastic brace and 3M Coban tape. The end result of a two-hour surgical procedure recently to reattach my right bicep muscle to the radius bone, were it belongs.

I ruptured the tendon. Completely tore it from the bone.

Salsa dancing.

"Is that dangerous?" the orthopedic surgeon asked.

It can be.

The historic hotel in town offers free dance lessons on Tuesday nights. Normally, there are substantially more women who show up than men. Meaning the women cycle through the men who happen to be present.

If you love women, it's a no-brainer proposition.

Everything was going well. I like to dance - remember my foray into charity dancing - and I was there with friends.

The move that has changed my life slightly involved throwing my partner forward and holding her arms while she leans forward (think Kate Winslett on the bow of the Titanic); she then leans back into a dip, moving her arms into mine like a bicep curl. Only her right arm moved the opposite direction.

"Scccrrrriiitttcchhhhh."

"What was that?" she asked as we completed the move and went back into the salsa's three steps on a four-beat measure.

"Slight muscle tear, no big thing. Totally fine."

I went to fetch my drink, stood off in the corner to look at the damage.

A hole in the crook of my elbow, where my bicep was supposed to be.

And the bicep, rolled up like a busted shutter, at the top of my arm.

OK, I went a little white.

"Are you OK?" my friend - and favorite dance partner - asked.

"Not so much," as I showed her the arm.

Pleas were made to take me to the ER. I declined, on the grounds that the ER could do nothing for me. I went home, grabbed an ice pack and waited to get a surgical opinion. 

"Lets get that fixed, shall we?" 

I do like, when people ask about my arm being in a sling and my dance-partner-in-crime is present, to say I injured myself salsa dancing.

All eyes turn to her.

"It wasn't me!" she protests, and I smile.

Life is rough-and-tumble and no one escapes unscathed. 

And the best stories come from real life.

Addendum; as I typed this with one hand - and I am limited to wearing snap-button shirts, warmup pants and sandals for the next six weeks - it might be a bit quiet on The Tension. Not for a lack of material, just a lack of arms.