It was mid-March and we were in the Gymnastics gym just screwing around. The season was over except for the state championships and starting tomorrow we would be off for two weeks on Spring break.
My specialty was tumbling and I had qualified for the state meet, but for now my mind was free of worries or stress. Only 30 minutes and we would be dismissed.
Stosh had suggested that we play a game of progressive on the trampoline. Five of us had agreed and Stosh went first. In only two jumps he had good height. On the next jump he dropped to his back and flipped into a brandi, gracefully gliding into a front flip with a half twist, landing squarely on his feet, and extending his arms as we had been trained to show our control to the judges.
I was next. I was not that skilled on the tramp, certainly not as good as Stosh. I knew I could do a brandi. I had done it many times. I also knew that I could do another brandi out of the first one or I could do a back or front flip after the brandi. If I didn’t land it cleanly, I could drop to my seat and do a swivel hip. Easy. I rehearsed the moves in my head, twisting my body and moving my head to get the feel of how I was going to pull this off.
As the second on the tramp I had to duplicate Stosh’s trick and follow it with my own. I had never done a brandi from my back, but I had done a front flip from my back and I was confident that I could do it. I jumped a couple times and got decent height. Dropping to my back I let the tramp lift me as I started my flip reaching for the sky. I moved my arms to the right and twisted my torso. I could tell that the trick was going well technically, but, as it turned out, I didn’t have the height and I landed on my stomach instead of my feet.
Not bad, I thought to myself. Just a little more height and I would get it. In progressive, you had three tries to add on a new trick. I had two more tries. All I had to do is get a little more height, spin just little faster, and add my trick. This time I jumped four times. I had a lot more height this time and when I dropped to my back. I let the tramp carry me up, but this time I reached up harder to get even more height and I went into my twist. I had my right arm extended and my left arm tucked.
All okay, but no, I was in the middle of the tramp and the guys were yelling, “Dave, you okay, get coach!”
Instinctively, I reached with my left hand to my shoulder. It was squishy instead of hard. I knew then that I had come straight down arm extended and the bones in my shoulder were separated. When that realization hit me, the pain came. It was excruciating. Coach did not know what to do, so he walked me to the infirmary. They sat me down on a chair. I did not know what was happening and felt all alone. My undershirt was by now soaked thoroughly with sweat. The nurse had tried to reach my parents unsuccessfully and told me there would be an emergency vehicle there shortly to take me to the hospital. Suddenly I spotted my best friend Phil walking in the hallway. I called out to him and he turned around and hurried into the infirmary. He said he would stay with me and that made me feel better.
A few minutes later two cops walked in and told Phil and I to come with them. They were driving a paddy wagon and Phil and I sat on the benches in back. They took me to the nearest hospital, not the one where my doctor worked and deposited me in the emergency room. The staff there again tried to reach my parents unsuccessfully. By now, my shoulder had been dislocated for about an hour and a half. “It hurts” I cried out. “It hurts.” They asked if there was another family member they could call, that they could not even give me a pain killer without authorization. I told them that my brother was nineteen and I gave them his number. They were able to reach him and they gave me a couple extra strength aspirins.
Another hour passed by when finally my parents walked in. Phil’s had reached his parents and they were able to locate my parents and tell them what was happening. Phil’s parents also came in and took Phil home. My parents drove me, dislocated shoulder and all, to Edgewater hospital. Doctor Ricewasser was waiting.
He escorted me, now more than three hours after the dislocation, to a room and told me to lie down on a gurney there and gave me a shot. “Let me know when the ceiling begins to spin.” He said. I looked up at the ceiling. The tiles above me were still. A few minutes later the ceiling was still stock still and time was dragging. My shoulder hurt like hell. Finally I yelled out, “Doc! The ceiling is spinning!” It wasn’t.
Doctor Ricewasser put one hand on my shoulder and the other under my arm bone and with a practiced easy motion, pulled the bones properly together. Instantly, the pain was gone and with that the ceiling was spinning.
Eventually, I dislocated my shoulder another six times and each time there was less pain and I was able to get it into the socket by myself. My gymnastics career was over. I could not compete in the state meet and although I was recruited for gymnastics by the top team in the country, I never again competed. Seven years later, I had the surgery to prevent any more dislocations.
I still feel sad and at a loss when I attend gymnastics meets. I still twist my body and envision making moves when I watch. I still love the sport.
I still love the sport.
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