There is a distinct snapping sound and a flash of pain in my left knee as I tumble to the ground.
Right away, I know something was wrong.
"Too bad," I say aloud, taking in the perfect California blue sky and the branches of the pines trees, heavy with fresh snow, above my head.
Here I am on one of the easiest slopes at China Peak in Shaver Lake, California, less than three hours away from my home.
I try to stand up but don’t find the strength to do so. It doesn’t occur to me that I could be injured. The pain was brief and is now gone, leaving a strange sensation of weakness. I try to move my skis so I won’t slide downhill. But I can’t and I remain seated in the deep snow as skiers and snowboarders zoom around me.
I know it’s not safe to stay where I am so again, I try to move. The weakness in my knee tells me something isn’t right. I look for my daughter but she has no reason to wait for me. We have been skiing together for a couple of runs and that’s our last one before boarding the bus that will take us to her high school.
A snowboarder stops by and asks me if I need help. I tell him about my fall and he offers to ski down and seek help. He snowboards away. Meanwhile, I still hope to stand up but ultimately have to admit I can’t without some help.
Two young snowboarders are taking a rest nearby and I ask one of them if he can give me a hand. Although he must be thirty years younger than me, he smiles and kindly accepts, offering me his gloved hand.
"Yeah!" I say, as I stand up easily. Great! That was nothing.
He smiles again and disappears in a cloud of fresh powder, followed by his friend. Carefully, I drag my skis downhill, and for a second it is as nothing at all had happened. A grin grows inside me and I thank my body that has so far never failed me. But as I praise my good luck and health, the weakness in my knee returns with a strange and unpleasant sensation of looseness in the leg. I meet my daughter and a few of her friends waiting for me a few hundred feet down the slope. They are sixteen and agile. A flash of pride convinces me that I can’t stay here for help so I ski down, avoiding turns as much as possible.
I manage to reach the lodge but when I take my skis off, my leg collapses under me and I fall. My daughter gets my skis and I limp to the lodge where I successfully get my ski boots off and retrieve my pair of sneakers.
I don’t complain and with a smile on my face swears I had the best day ever. And I’m not lying. The snow, the sun, the beauty of the Sierra and the incredible joyful sensation that skiing provides was truly amazing today. I can’t deny the pleasure I experienced even if I hurt myself.
But I can’t deny either how an injury cuts me right away from the non-injured rest of the world. All around, people sunbath and relax in Adirondack chairs with a book or even a glass of wine or a beer. Skiers and snowboarders slalom to avoid me. Although I trip countless times, nobody looks at me or asks me if I need help until I reach the bus.
A young woman notices my careful walk and asks me if I am all right. Upon her insistence, I agree to see one of the ski patrol guys. Scott is ten years older than me, weathered and lean like most mountain older men are. He examines my knee and doesn’t find anything wrong. There is indeed no bruise, no swelling, no evident fracture. He brings me a pack of ice for the road and strongly suggests a visit to my physician if I still feel the same way in the morning. He also assures me that I am in great shape and that it’s probably nothing serious.
I board the bus, all the way hoping that my knee will be fine. But when we reach the high school down in Fresno, although there is still no swelling and no pain, my leg gives way as I climb down the bus. I still have an hour drive before being home. My kids load their skis and shoes in the trunk and I thank the Americans for their automatic cars. At least, I only need my right knee.
I make it home without any pain but as I park down the steep driveway, I fall. In fact, I fall countless times before calling it a day.
By the time I’m tucked in bed I already know I am due for a visit to the ER.
I have no clue yet that my injury has a three letter name.
