Old injuries return to haunt
Steve Martaindale

Steve Martaindale is a self-syndicated columnist. Write him at penmanmail-steve@yahoo. com.

It was about 21 years ago, and I had carried my 4-year-old daughter to a Comal County youth livestock auction. Erin had become fidgety sitting on the wooden bleachers, and we were walking through the pen area where the show animals were kept.

A boy was returning his bull to a pen when he lost control of the huge animal. The boy still had a hold on the halter, but the beast's massive hindquarters were circling toward us. I reached down to grab Erin, but she somehow stumbled and fell out of my reach. Instinctively, I dropped to hands and knees above her, tensing my body to take the incoming blow from the bull's backside. (OK, it may have been a steer; I didn't look.)

Miraculously, nothing happened. Somehow, the bull stepped, jumped or, for all I knew, flew over us. A hoof might have made glancing contact with my side, but I wasn't even sure about that. Erin came away with scraped hands and knees, not to mention just being scared. I removed her from the hubbub and a nice lady came over with water to wash off our slight wounds.

Later, I became aware of a pain in my right rib cage. Thinking that maybe I took a greater blow than I realized, I visited a doctor, who informed me that it was inflamed cartilage ... or something like that ... caused by the exertion and would just take some time to heal. Eventually, it did just that.

I was about 30 years old then. Fast-forward to last week. I was sitting on the stairs, hurriedly pulling on my boots en route to work. One of my deeply instilled practices is to always shake out my boots just in case something is in one of them. Most commonly, it may be a pebble, though I have found a child's toy, albeit years ago. Of course, in my mind, I'm making sure there is no scorpion in there, though the last time we knowingly had a scorpion in our home was also about 20 years ago.

As I pulled on my left boot, it actually crossed my mind that I did not turn the pair upside down and knock their heels together like I usually do. However, the left boot was on by now, and I was pulling on the right. As my foot began settling onto the insole, I felt something somewhat squishy. I removed the boot, turned it upside down and a roach (maybe a water bug or palmetto bug, I don't know; I call them all roaches) fell to the floor at the foot of the stairs. It took off running. I raised the boot in my right hand and heaved it toward the roach, stopping it in its tracks.

Any celebration on my part was short-lived, because I immediately felt this stabbing pain from my right rib cage. Since then, I am reminded whenever I turn the wrong way.

Reminded, I say, that the pain caused 20 years ago by a 1,500-pound bull has revisited me courtesy of a 1.5-gram insect. Ahh, the difference 20 years make.

A friend at work was telling us about playing soccer over the weekend. He's about 30 years old, a former serviceman who seems to stay in good shape. However, he said that he had not been playing more than a few minutes when he found himself begging for a substitute.

"I know what you mean. Been there, done that. I also know that you're thinking, 'I can get myself back into shape.'"

"Yes," he said. "I've got to."

I smiled. "Yeah, been there, thought that." And then I was jerked back to reality by a roach.