Browsing through the Forum lately, I came across "Is this Chockstone?", where someone shamelessly suggested that one way to improve the Forum was to submit more "talk about rock climbing". Well, sadly I won't be able to contribute any trip report for a little while (yeah, yeah, is this a promise or a threat?... funny) so instead, I have this dream report. Just close your eyes for a second.
In my dream, Ruth – my talented architect – designed a beautiful house with a butterfly roof and a spacious deck. Sometimes, I need to get up on that roof to sweep off the leafs, branches and dead Christmas beetles. It was a beautiful day and I was looking forward to a fun afternoon of climbing with friends. With the sweeping done, I packed up, locked the doors and hit the road to Centennial Glen.
In my dream, I'm going to meet a stunning Spanish climber, with a thick mane of dark hair, a smile worthy of legends and pale brown eyes with a tinge of turquoise (in this precise dream all women are excessively attractive, by the way). Curiously, Ainhoa (that's her name in the dream) speaks to me in French (sometimes, I still dream in French – old habits die hard I presume). Ainhoa was climbing with a group of friends: some of which I knew, like Jesko a german who spoke spanish to Ainhoa, some I didn't, like Saxon a quiet type who offered me a belay on Rubber Lover.
I climbed the first part without a problem, then decided to take a break two clips from the end, the crimpy crux above me. When ready, I planted my left foot on the wall, turned my left hip to the wall and pulled up to reach a high hold. Somehow, my foot slept and I hit the tip of my left ankle bone hard against the wall. That hurt like hell but, like hitting your funny bone, the pain went away rapidly but when I tried to step back onto the wall, there was a sharp pain. Saxon brought me down.
That's when this dream starts to get blurry.
Roishin, my irish physio, thought that apart from swelling – caused by the hit I took – things should be fine but I should check with a specialist just to be on the safe side. Andrew, the specialist in question came to the rapid conclusion that I had torn something ridiculously called retinaculum holding in place the peroneal tendon and that an operation was required. Urgently. After what most have been a brief flash of REM sleep, I was standing in front of Kim, an orthopaedic surgeon. Kim said "Yes indeed, torn retinaculum. What are you doing this afternoon?"
This dream was becoming ridiculous. As if things could go that fast. Then bam! The next sequence is me lying in my sofa with a cast around my leg. Here's a little render of the scene I did in my spare time:
Dream render: in the background, my fridge.
Now, as if this wasn't ludicrous enough, out of the blue, while still lying in the sofa, I received the following picture from Kim.
A few days later, I read in a letter from Kim: The was a complex 4cm long tear of the lateral 50% of the peroneous brevis but no ulceration or ostheophyte formation within the perineal sheath. The lateral 50% of the peroneous brevis was excised and sent to pathology and the remainder was satisfactory without the need for tendon transfer. The false pouch was obliterated and the retinaculum repaired with one Vicryl giving good stability.
According to Kim, within four our five months, I should be back on the rock face but of course, we all know that dreams last minutes at most...