2013-08-09 / Columnists

Boyleing Points

6 Day Vacay
By Kevin Boyle

Katie Honan stops reading at the word “lance.” So I’ll catch up with you later, Honan. A couple of people wanted to know, so what happened. You’re talking about getting lanced once second and next thing you know you’re talking about Mayor hopeful Carlos Weiner.

So a quick recap. My bicycle pedal gouged my leg. I went to Urgent Care, got bandaged up, got some antibiotics. I don’t know which, if any, activity led me down the path to a six day hospital stay. Maybe it was playing basketball and having a few beers after that; or riding my bike to Ruby’s in Coney Island for a couple of beers the next day, or it was soaking my foot in the ocean at the Graybeard Beach party and having a few beers in the process. I was fine, more or less. Until I started staggering a bit when there wasn’t a beer in sight. A urologist friend – insert joke here – took one look at my gash and said: get to the hospital.

Before I made the trip I had to be scolded by a friend who’s a nurse. You went in the ocean? You know how many microbes and other pollutants are in there? What’s the matter with you? You know that pedal could have had bacteria on it from Sandy. A Sandy infected pedal? Yeah, what’s the matter with you, she said again. And what are you doing now? You’re soaking your foot in soapy water? What’s the matter with you?! Get to the hospital. Nurses are scary. I went to the hospital.

When the super IV antibiotics didn’t work, a doctor came by with a table full of tools from Home Depot. He shot with me Lidocaine, a local, and went to work tunneling under my leg just above the ankle. He may have given me a local but he soon crossed state lines and forgot to pony up additional pain killer. The best I could do was bite my pillow with more gusto. I tried to remember the text I had gotten from my son just moments before: don’t cry.

The next to last part of the procedure was pealing me off the ceiling. The last part was stuffing or packing the wound with gauze and tape. That was no joke either.

Still, an hour or less later I was feeling ok. The worst was behind me and I was told I’d feel dramatically better each day.

Well, that didn’t stop me from having the crap scared out of me the next morning. The same doctor shows up, all smiles. Hey, how you doing? I’m going to re-dress and repack the wound. I’m thinking it won’t hurt that much. He leaves the room for a minute and the nurse walks in to give me a shot of morphine. I was like, WHAT?! I need morphine today? Not yesterday?! What’s in store for me now? You gotta be kidding. Morphine? He’s cutting off my leg?

She jams the needle into the muscle of my shoulder – ouch. The doctor returns and gets right to repacking. He didn’t wait for the morphine to kick in. But it didn’t matter, the procedure was a piece of cake. The morphine shot must’ve been a diversion or he just wanted to give another jab since the repacking was no big deal. The shoulder shot hurt more than the repacking. I figure it had all the potency of a half a can of Coors Light. So, that was it. I think the worst is over. I have a hole in my leg but I’ve got a new place to store a stack of quarters.

Boyleing Points: Late and early birthday wishes: Brian King. Tom McVeigh. Eileen Carroll.

**JohnO’Connor and KennyNichtern were featured in a recent NewYorkTimes article about the Playland Motel. Both guys are bartenders there. Someone we didn’t expect to see quoted in the Times was legendary basketball player, Jimmy Howley, who everybody knows as Leaper. The Times referred to him as Leaper and he came off sounding a bit like a wise Yoda. Comparing the new and old Playland, Leaper said it “definitely isn’t what it was. I suppose it’s what it is.”

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