Hockey and Hernias, Part III: Plan B, Plan Let's See

A lot of AMHlers and other hockey friends have asked me when I’ll be back playing hockey.  I’m grateful for their compassion and support.

Not sure, is what I tell them, or I shrug my shoulders.

Have I retired?

No. Well, probably. At least from real competitive hockey. Maybe not, though, from pick-up activity. My return to any form of significant exercise other than walking will depend upon what magic the hockey gods might contribute to my healing. I want to alleviate the pain incurred from surgery to fix what medical professionals refer to as athletic pubalgia and/or a sports hernia.

Essentially, it’s an injury affecting the pelvic floor or inguinal canal. As I’ve mentioned in previous posts, diagnosis is difficult because MRI’s usually don’t reveal the damage that we know is there and that will not heal on its own. (Any doctor who tells you to “give it time because you’re old” and who is not familiar with this conditions probably isn’t the right doctor for you.). Surgery tends to be the only recourse to find the torn tissue.

For those of you who’ve benefited from surgical repair, more power to you. I wish you continued hockey happiness.

For those whom surgery has not healed, or who too often feel even worse, you may find company at this Mayo Clinic online forum or perhaps here, where I’ll continue to share my experience.

I don’t fault my surgeons for their baffled reactions to why my pain is just as intense and more widespread than what it was before surgery in 2010; they were clear from the outset that about five percent of surgeries are unsuccessful. The reasons, from what one of my surgeons has told me, are all over the map.

The surgeon can inject steroids to the painful area and call for additional MRIs. In my case, these steroids haven’t helped, and additional MRIs (from different providers) have not shown any evidence of damage. Exploratory surgery is not something the surgeon wants to do, and I don’t blame him.

Rather than waiting for MRI technology to improve, I’ve researched options for those of us who want to get back to focusing on sports, fun, family…whatever arena that gives us purpose and contentedness.

Pelvic floor therapy. My new Plan A. This is not about “strengthening the core,” what traditional physical therapists help their clients with; this is about releasing what might be an entrapped nerve.

Trigger point massage. Probably Plan B. Larry Warnock here in the Boston area has been a terrific resource. He’s proactive in the TPM community and responsive to email. If you’re outside New England, ask a local TPM therapist about what Larry “Thejocdoc” Warnock calls a “pelvic unwind.” My insurance doesn’t cover massage, but the cost is reasonable and not prohibitive.

Cold-laser light therapy. Plan C? Proactive and responsive to email also describes acupuncturist Craig Armine. He’s based in Phoenix, AZ and tells me that it’s important for cold laser administrators, typically chiropractors and acupuncturists, to use 500 milliwatt lasers in a cluster formation at a wavelength of 810 nm.

Magnetic Resonance Neurography. Partly because MRN is a relatively new procedure, it’s much more expensive than an MRI. I’m not sure if insurance would cover it. And I hear that the MRN may not define the problem.

I’ll let you know more in August, after I visit with a pelvic floor specialist.

Please email with any questions. I’m happy to help. 

Continued here.

The Boston Bruins, A 2010-2011 Odyssey: Top Twelve Highlights

*June 7, 2011 in Boston's North End
(image courtesy of AMHL Photographer)

The new NHL season is upon us and the Bruins will raise the championship banner tomorrow. So, let’s rewind—one last time—the 2010–11 season.

My Top Twelve Highlights:

1. The Odyssey Begins in Belfast: Sean Thornton and Patty Cleary return to their roots.

2. Big Zed’s Hat Trick: First career three-goal game as Bruins beat Hurricanes, 7–0.

3. Hello Chris Kelly, Rich Peverley, and Tomas Kaberle: Farewell Blake Wheeler and Mark Stuart (both a plus-8 with the B’s in 2010–2011).

4. 6–0 Road Trip: Including a win over the Canucks, the six-game sweep is B’s first since 1971–72.

Commercial Time Out, this recap brought to you by Puckbite

Da Hawks – Da Habs: Fast skating, precision passes short and long, sustained focus and passion and an uncanny reading of the play. That's what I admire most in hockey. There was lots of it on April 5, 2011, at Montreal's Centre Bell, when the Hawks faced the Habs. Both teams embody these qualities when they bring their A game and they were all in that night. Skillful, disciplined play. No head shots, no cheap shots. No trash talk, taunting, posturing or whining. Montreal took 10 minutes in penalties and Chicago 8. Each one 2 minutes. Crawford and Price were solid in the nets. 43 shots for the Hawks, 35 for the Habs. Beautiful wristers from Cammalleri and Kane in the second. With Subban's peremptory one-timer in OT, the Canadiens took it 1-2 and clinched a spot in the finals. If only the NHL could be like this every night. Perhaps we have to thank Scotty Bowman's big influence on both these teams and others, like the Penguins and Red Wings, over the years.

5. Michael Ryder’s Glove Save: The B’s forward reprised his role as Bonavista (NL) ball hockey goalie as the Bruins beat the Habs in Game Five.

6. Timmy Thomas, Game Two against the Flyers: Fifty-two saves in a History-Will-be-Made victory.

7. Andrew Ference to David Krejci to Nathan Horton: The Hockey Goddesses, at least one of them, are rooting for the Bruins.

8. *Stanley Cup Finals, A day before Game Four: Boston's revered Paul shouts, “The British Columbians are coming; the British Columbians are coming.” (He didn't really say that.)

9. Game Seven, Patrice Bergeron: Patty Cleary scores the game-winner and then a shortie to complete the Bruins’ odyssey.

10. Vancouver Fans Applaud Tim Thomas.

11. The Bruins Locker Room: Zdeno Chara holding Claude Julien’s five-year-old daughter, Katryna. (Dear Reader: If you've got a picture of it, please send to me.)

12. Katryna and the Cup, for the little kid in all of us: “Best of all, I like winning it.”

On the Shelf, Part X: “Ice Ice Baby”

June 27, 2010

“If there’s a problem, yo, I’ll solve it.”
-Vanilla Ice

All the well-intentioned vanilla platitudes from friends and family haven’t cleared the air of despair choking the hope that I’ll play hockey again. More problematic than my doubt and lack of gratitude is my greatest fear: That I’ll lose my purpose in life.

I know that the hockey gods/The Force/The Great Pumpkin/Whatever You Want to Call Him, Her, It or Them, want me to enjoy life while I serve others as best I can, but I haven’t felt that way for much of the last eight weeks—since the surgery to repair what the surgeon called “a very large hole” in my groin.

So far, I’m two weeks behind the twelve-week recovery/physical therapy plan, and sometimes I feel like I’m losing ground. I guess I’m a slow learner and a slow healer. I’ve also allowed my unpredictable physical state to permeate my soul. And I’ve been feeling bad that I feel bad because I’m well aware that others endure catastrophes with more grace than I’ve exhibited during this temporary setback.

But the hockey gods work in mysterious and musical ways for me: I’m laying down, back on the purple couch in my Zen room, listening to a CD my wife mixed for me. The Force nudges my spirit awake as I listen to “Live Now” (Paul Brandt). My fingers then dance along to “Suerte” (Jason Mraz with Ximena Sariñana), and then, to “Good Vibrations” (Glee Cast Version). I think of all the people who are pulling for me: my wife, my hockey pals, and friends outside hockey circles. The Great Presence is transforming my knowledge into a more solid belief.

As the Glee cast sings Mr. Ice’s classic, I picture my little brother during his recent visit to Boston: He’s in the back seat of the car and rapping to the same song I’m listening to now. He surprises my wife and me with his knowledge of the lyrics, softly hip-hopping along—and then pumping up the volume, “Beachfront Avenue!”

Five hours later, I’ve listened to "Ice Ice Baby" again. I’ve decided to keep putting one front in front of the other. I’ll continue to ice ice after physical therapy and, as my brother told me not long after his 80s flashback: Forget faith and hope and expectation for a moment and just accept where I am now.

Word to my brother (and all of my supporters): Thanks. I love you.

Donuts on the Dashboard, Part II

The Golden Globes last weekend, and the SAG awards last night. What a boon, a cradle in which to carry the second installment of this short film.

(Cont’d from Part I)

Scene III, Act II: The Beach

The Photographer carried the Plain donut I suggested, and the Coconut she had selected, toward the Atlantic Ocean. She then scouted a place upon which the sweet spherical objects of our affection would perform their well-rehearsed roles.

My job on this low budget set was security, so I scanned the unencumbered skies for seagulls. The proverbial coast was clear as the Photographer positioned the donuts in the sand. But then a herring gull, its gray and white wings extended upon the sea breeze, swooped onto the scene.

Donuts in peril.

The villain, lowering its menacing landing gear, approached the restricted zone. I flailed my arms to deter the donut-seeking seabird. The solo stalker veered away. (Like Boston Bruin Timmy Thomas’s puck-stopping performances, my security tactics are unorthodox, but effective.)

Other gulls, however, were now aware of the battle for breakfast. I remained committed to the cause, though. Sidestepping to my right, and then to my left—waving my arms all the while—I denied the airborne attackers. They were no match for this defenseman; the disillusioned donut hunters dispersed, resigned to cull the shore for favorable flotsam.

The Photographer, who was able to focus on the job at hand, completed her duties. She then picked up the dirty donuts (their surfaces sullied for art’s sake) and followed me to the car.

Flash forward to the present: The leading donuts are on the dashboard, and my wife has regained her breath.

“It was kind of Hitchcocky out there,” she says.

Yet it’s no mystery that the donuts on the dashboard, which gave such sweet and glorious performances, no longer serve a purpose. They will die a less-than-glamorous death upon arriving home.

But they will not be forgotten. Nay.

Hockey (and donut) gods willing, you’ll see them again on next year’s awards shows (hello, David E. Kelly?). Okay maybe not there. More likely, you’ll see them on a prize puck or in next year’s donut calendar, both of which the Photographer produces.

The Hockey Gods are (Still) Crazy: Out of Season

Thursday, July 30

“I lost out. I wasn’t playing to win…” - “Out of Season”, REO Speedwagon

I’m not playing to win. I’m not even playing. And for the first time in ten years—that’s about thirty hockey seasons for me—I won’t be drafted by an AMHL team. So out of season.

I don’t know what I did to displease the deities, but Humpty Dumpty (Sports) Hernia has flummoxed me and confounded a superior physical therapist. At times during these past eleven months I’ve felt like the cracks in HDH were sealing but then, sure as Sher-Wood, other fissures would form and leave me bitter and even more baffled.

This week has been the epitome of extremes, and HDH feels no better than it did last September. I’ve been grieving the loss of ice time and competition, so of course denial, sadness, anger, and pleading with the hockey gods have drifted in and out of my psyche. These thoughts and feelings have often lingered for too long, and acceptance of the situation has been, until tonight, fleeting.

It’s Thursday night, and I’m home alone, sort of. While my wife and a friend are at dinner, I’m enjoying quality time with my iPod and the supreme hockey beings, the ones whom, back in April, I suggested were crazy.

Well, I was right. They are crazy. Good crazy. You see, they’ve taken control of what’s shuffling through the playlist, which at the moment is REO Speedwagon’s “Out of Season”.

“I’m so out of season. You let me go and you gave me no reason…”

But instead of stewing about why the skating spirits have benched me or when HDH will be healed, I’m singing and smiling. Finally, I can find humor in lyrics that would have, until tonight, likely served as a stinging reminder about the games and seasons I’ve missed; I’m advancing through the adversity that a few days ago would have me hopping (on the one good leg) mad. How I’ve dealt with this difficulty has gone from laughable to laugh-able.

With this sharper clarity, I divine that the hockey gods are on their timetable, not mine. Perhaps they want me to prepare for the inevitable reality of being an ex-hockey player, eternally out of season.

Off the Shelf, Part II: The Hockey Gods Must Be Crazy

Continued from Part I

Wednesday April 22, 2009

The hockey gods must be crazy because they’ve interfered with my plan to play this morning.

After solid and encouraging outings last Wednesday and Friday, I felt strong and sturdy on Saturday and Sunday. But then on Monday and Tuesday, misery and tenuousness reigned supreme in Groinland. And the hockey gods allowed this.

I’ve placed several calls to Puck Paradise but have not yet received a response. Well, that’s not entirely true. In the past seven-plus months, they’ve answered my questions about why I have this pain and discomfort (so that I can learn patience and acceptance and maybe a thing or two more about coaching). But I’m still waiting for a response about the whats and whens. What exactly is the problem? What will it take to fix it? And most importantly, when will I play again?

Despite my residual doubts—maybe I pushed recovery too hard?—I have faith that the hockey halos are pleased with the AMHL Wednesday Sharks.

My oversized Mites, all eight of them on this Spring Break week, don’t need me on the ice this morning against the Canadiens.

The deities are delighted with Kate “Two Cups” Fallon’s timely saves, Greg Longtine’s two goals, and Mike Seeley’s inspired defensive display. And the hockey gods seem to have abandoned Wednesday’s points leader Tim Donahue, who misfires on three golden opportunities. The Sharks end the regular season with another win (14–1–0–1) over Donahue and Les Glorieux (7–7–0–2).

The Canadiens, or whoever next faces the Sharks, may need divine intervention or another plan (or both) to win.

Same goes for me and my groin. Plan B is acupuncture. If that doesn’t work, then the hockey gods must be crazy. Or maybe it’s just me.

Either way, I'm back on the shelf.