A Golf Handicap Prompted an Emmy Performance

I stood on the tee box staring down the fairway. The tall weeds just beyond the yards of sand and gravel caused intimidation, but then there isn't much about this game that doesn't provide challenges. I realized long ago, golf's not about the score but the sunshine, exercise and fellowship with friends. In fact, I usually don't keep score. Why bother? That would be depressing.

Before even raising my driver in the air, I heard a loud pop and immediately found my body on the ground, my head eye-level with the ball. Lori, my sister-in-law, ran to my side, inquiring about the pop noise that echoed to where she had stood on the cart path. More accurately, she hobbled over, supported by a leg brace. I knew not what had happened only that the functionality of my right foot was gone. Like a dead fish, it lay on the grass unable hold weight.

Ice. Randy, my husband, remembered ice would deter swelling, so he offered a can of cold Modelo from the ice chest. With him on one side and my brother Nick on the other, I limp-crawled to the golf cart, rested my foot on the dash and applied the beer can compress. Now a spectator, I began researching. Having been diagnosed with plantar fasciitis, I started with the known and asked Google, "What causes a popping sound in a foot with plantar fasciitis?"

By the time we reached the eighteenth hole, I had a diagnosis, a ligament had ruptured in my foot. "OK, I can deal with this," I thought.

Staring at the dozen steps leading to the clubhouse, I quickly decided my full bladder could wait until we got home. Randy positioned the cart beside the car, and I hopped from one to the other - yes, literally hopped. To an onlooker, I must have looked like a one-legged grasshopper. Someone suggested dinner and never being one to spoil a good time, I agreed. Why allow a minor injury to stop the fun?

My stomach grumbled, my bladder whined, and the moment my body exited our car, my dead fish of a foot cried with pain. I began to rethink the sanity of this plan. My bladder screamed in complaint as I hopped into the restaurant.

Acting chivalrous, the guys bent down so I could wrap my arms around their shoulders. In under a minute, Nick's knee buckled, causing all my weight to lean on Randy, whose back weakened, and we both fell against the wall. Apparently, knights were stronger in the twelfth century or fair maidens were fairer because we only made it a few steps before I stood wobbling on one foot, and we discussed a new plan.

Lori suggested the men lock their arms together to create a chair and hoist me in the air. Great idea! We did that when we were kids. In under a minute, our bodies revealed the results of age. My husband's torn rotator cuff and my brother's bad back left me hanging, hobbling, and howling with laughter. The diners beyond the windows were now pointing and snickering at our poorly executed acrobatic act. I hopped, they dragged, and Lori continued to offer suggestions until we reached the bench outside the front door.

Lori raised her voice to interrupt our laughter and get our attention. She shared a great idea. "Go to Walgreens across the street and buy some crutches." We were all stunned by the logic of her suggestion. While our husbands went shopping, I waited with crossed legs. It seemed like a role reversal as we waited for the guys to return from the store.

Did you know not everyone can successfully maneuver on crutches? True. My first step garnered shouted instructions.

"Don't bend over so much."

"Pull the crutches in. They are spread too far apart."

"Slow down. You are going to lose your balance."

I simply trudged forward towards my destination. When my husband told me to stop so he could shorten the crutches, I yelled over my shoulder, "I have to pee." Probably too loudly because everyone in the restaurant didn't need to know this. However, my comment seemed to increase the humor of our comedy routine. The waiters simply ignored our presence.

When I wobbled right, Nick straightened me upward. When I leaned too far backwards, Randy caught my unsteady body.

Somehow, we made it to the bathroom door and my clothing remained mostly dry. Lori followed me through the door while Randy stood outside again - my knight in shining armor. Kind, but I am not sure how he could help in the ladies' bathroom. With confidence, I let out a sigh of relief and pushed the stall door open. During the process of turning, I lost what little balance I had. Lori guided me back as my body descended towards the floor in slow motion. The crutches spread wider to brace my fall, but didn't keep me from hitting the floor.

Looking up at the porcelain chair I thought, "I almost made it!" Twisting to my left side, my arms pulled my body up with the help of the handrails, suddenly realizing the benefit of the handicap facilities. When I looked at Lori, concern covered her face, but small gaffs of laughter squeaked out.

My simple statement broke her, "I peed a little."

Her composure evaporated as did mine. A situation that should have been disgusting and sad, turned into an Emmy quality scenario. A script for an episode of I Love Lucy began writing itself in my mind. Lori was my Ethel, supporting every bad idea and covering up my failures.

My Ricky Ricardo looked at us with eyes of wonder as we limped out of the bathroom with tears running down our faces. Though I am sure he wondered what happened behind the closed door, he showed enough decorum not to ask until sometime later. We made it to the table and ate without drawing further attention to ourselves. Well, at least less attention.

The following evening, when we all gathered to play cards, Randy finally asked what caused our intense laughter in the bathroom. Lori described the event from her angle.

"I didn't know how to help when I saw her going down. It was like watching a beetle trying to land with one wing. I knew she was going down and there was nothing I could do about it. Seeing her body on the ground in front of the toilet, with legs sprawled in different directions and the crutches laying askew created panic. I asked how I could help, but she looked at me and broke out in laughter. Then she grabbed the handicap bar on the wall and pulled her body up. I knew I should look away to give her privacy, but it was too much for my brain to take in."

Though my emotional pain should have equaled the pain in my foot, somehow, the embarrassment didn't phase my confidence. Once a person gets to a certain age, the hurdles in life can either make us or break us. My plan is to look life in the face and laugh. Who knows, I might get my own television sitcom.