Two hours after I tore my achilles heel I limped into a foot specialist's office. I had Googled something like "foot doctor," "Atlanta" and called two doctors.
The first doctor's office I called, I told them that I needed to see a doctor today.
It was a Friday. Afternoon.
After a brief pause, the receptionist said, "Can you be here in 20 minutes?"
I was still in athletic warmups and the sweat had dried to my body. I said, "Sure can!"
The phrase, "hopped in the shower" was something I had been saying for years. That day, I literally hopped in the shower. And out.
I was 5 minutes late by the time I pulled in the parking lot. I hopped to the front counter and filled in the necessary paperwork.
I had finally gotten to the doctor.
I knew that whatever happened to my ankle, it was bad. I simply couldn't put any weight on it.
The doctor examined me about 2 minutes and said that word: Ruptured.
I was going to need surgery.
Surgery? Cutting on me?
Was there another way, I asked the doctor.
He said that many people forgo surgery in cases like these. He said that if I were older, perhaps an elderly man, he'd tell me to stay off it for a while and let the body heal itself. But because of my relatively young age and vitality, he advised that I go through with the surgery.
I immediately said, yes.