What better way to head into tax day than with residual anesthesia working its way through my system, fat Percocet pills every four hours, and a stack of medical bills that will be large enough, for once, to deduct on our tax return? I know celebrating the tax benefits of an injury like this is akin to calling your beer glass “partly full” when there’s just a splash of backwash in it, but hey, I’m a rosy guy.

Doc says the tear in my Achilles was more significant than guessed from the MRIs. The four “slices” of MRI indicated a tear over maybe 50 percent of the tendon and a comparable amount of damage to its attached muscle— the soleus. Once in there (Dad said based on the planned incision point, the surgeon better have long fingers), Dr. Dolbeare said the tear was more extensive. In other words, good thing I decided on the surgery.

From what I saw on the MRI, “torn” is an awfully friendly euphemism for something that looks a lot more like “blown to bits.” While potentially well over half of my tendon was shredded in that way, the doc says there was one good strand left, which gave him an effective platform to work from. He stitched up what he could with FiberWire* and It should heal nicely— if I behave for the next two months.

For the first time in my life I have a genuine empathy for all those people I’ve wished well on their surgeries. I don’t mean to woe-is-me, but it’s no small undertaking. When my surgery nurse said the couple hours I was going to be knocked out would feel like five minutes, it didn’t really soak in. Five minutes later I woke up with stitches and an ache in my calf. Pretty cool, if you think about it. Of course I knew this is how general anesthesia worked, but it’s a whole ‘nother thing to experience it. Kind of like hitting the “fast forward” button on life, as in that awful Adam Sandler movie, Click: clever premise, lame story.

But in some respects, I don’t want to fast forward past all of this. The workings of the body (even when my recent snowboarding technique seems to have worked against my body) are truly fascinating. Over 15 years ago I pondered what ski injuries contribute to the world and now I have the opportunity to find out, first-hand.

So with a couple sips of McClelland’s single malt (earmuffs, Doc) to celebrate the beginning of my healing, here’s to medical technology and the foolish snowboarders who put it to the test. Cheers,

* Had to namedrop a bit of the technology that’s holding my Achilles together: “FiberWire suture is a new generation of polyester suture with a long chain polyethylene core. FiberWire has greater strength than similar sized polyester suture with superior feel, smooth tie ability and lower knot profile. FiberWire is the ideal suture for most orthopedic soft tissue repairs, virtually eliminating suture breakage during knot tying.” Fun stuff, right? I asked Dr. Dolbeare if he was a fisherman, figuring the same knot-tying skills might apply. He chuckled to humor me.

MRI by Boulder Community Hospital

Part 2 of 12: one blog a month throughout 2010 on the 12 points of the Scout Law. Today: A scout is loyal.

You might think that running away seems a disloyal act, but that’s such glass-is-half-empty thinking. Sometimes it takes having the bejeezus scared out of us to realize what we run to.

Stepping out of that airport terminal in Delhi around 3 AM, I tried to stay loyal to my spirit of adventure. When the shuttle service wasn’t where the guidebook had said, I decided to wing it. A friendly enough local offered to drive me to my hotel and I was in the back seat of his car, shaking hands with another friend of his, before alarms went off in my head. I told them to stop the car, I actually jumped out while it was still rolling, and I walked at a brisk pace back past the armed guards into the airport waiting terminal. I was running to something of comfort as much as I was running from something fearful.

At a time when sports stars hop from team to team as free agents, people are career and company-jumping like never before, and more than half of all married couples cut their losses and leap into their next experiment, it seems we’ve got the running fromthing down. The concept of loyalty doesn’t seem like the first order of business when crisis looms. We chase “happiness” or even mere survival over something that seems like pie-in-the-sky idealism— or else like lunatic stoicism.

The loyalty I admire isn’t that stubborn cowboy stoicism that plays so well in westerns. Something about that clenched, unflinching bullheadedness smacks of rigor mortis. Put loyalty in motion, infuse it with a little of life’s vigor, and it becomes the momentum that can carry us through uncertainty and adversity.

In learning to ski or snowboard, inertia is one of the greatest adversaries. At low speeds on flat beginner slopes, every bump, every error, every wobble becomes traumatic. Hit the steeper hill and sure, it’s scarier, but the speed and momentum carries you through all the imperfections. Before you have time to think about what’s under you, it’s time to consider what lies ahead.

Of course to find peace— or at least functional discomfort— with the initial terror of steeper hills and faster speeds, you’ve got to have faith in something. Fear is palpable (there’s no denying it’s real) but loyalty is actionable. It keeps us going when we’re not sure if we can or should.

When I all-but sprinted into that Delhi airport terminal in the wee hours, I was remaining loyal to my own sense of self-preservation. I set aside for a couple hours my thirst for adventure and my faith in strangers in foreign lands, trusting instead in my own wits as my most trusted resource. I rested, I read the guidebook again, I tried a pay phone, and eventually I found a safe way to my hotel. I won’t say I wasn’t afraid, but it wasn’t fear that got my Indian adventure underway.

Loyalty is dynamic. If you find you’re questioning yours, I suggest putting it in motion.

Thanks for reading. Cheers,

P.S. For a longer-winded version of the Delhi airport arrival (and my shaken loyalties in travel guidebooks), please visit my round-the-world travelogue. Images by yours truly