Doctor’s Orders: Don’t Play Basketball Right After Surgery!

“Dreaming permits each and every one of us to be quietly and safely insane every night of our lives.”

William Dement

Ordinarily, doctors wouldn’t need to tell a 75-year old guy that he shouldn’t play a game 6-months after back surgery. But the guy did it anyway and nearly wrecked any recovery and rehab. He had no choice since one cannot dictate a sleeping man’s dreams.

It was almost four years ago (February 2016) when I had fusion surgery as a result of a love affair between L4 and L5. The two discs were increasingly fond of each other with the effect of squeezing the sciatic nerve. And the nerve was screaming so loudly that the little toe on my right foot even heard it.

The 5-hour surgery was so successful that I was walking several blocks within three weeks. Rehab included oxygen, no bending at all, sleeping on my side, physical therapy three days per week, stretching exercises, and walking every day. And no lifting.

But don’t be stupid and take chances. Maybe in a year, I might play racquetball. But what about playing “midnight basketball?” Does that count?

It’s not unusual for me to dream that I can’t find where I parked my car, that I am running late for the plane, or the game has already started, and I still can’t find my shoes. Or even playing a basketball game and I make every shot I take. Almost everyone has similar minor nightmares. But this dream was different and very realistic.

It’s a basketball game, I am on defense, and my man is trying to beat me along the baseline near the basket. He tries to go to my left; I stop him and talk a little trash. “You can’t beat me baseline. I’m too quick for you.” 

Then he tries to go to my right, has me by half a step. I reach around with my left hand, get my hand on the ball, and try to pull the ball away from him. He is strong and pulls me down.

That is when I awaken on the floor beside the bed in total shock and pain. 

I had flipped out of bed, hit my lower back on the corner of the nightstand, and knocked the wind out of myself. My wife Dolores looked over, turned on the light, and thought that I had a stroke, a heart attack, or was possessed. I caught my breath and explained that I had been in a game and got fouled…hard.

Then it occurred to me that six months of surgery and rehab might be for naught, but the new back pain seemed to be in a different part of my back. I just had sustained either a cracked or bruised rib.  Later, I found it to be a bad bruise that hurt for several months whenever I sneezed, coughed, or took a deep breath. I was really lucky.

A day after I “fell out of bed,” (I still think he fouled me), Dolores suggested that a bed rail might prevent collisions during future “midnight games.” Which I found to be ridiculous. Rails are for little kids. And I also noted that she had also fallen out of bed a few months earlier, so we would need two of them.  

And, by the way, why did you fall out of bed? Were you dreaming?

She then reluctantly told me what had happened during her dream. 

She was a communion minister by the altar in our church waiting for the priest to distribute communion to the other ministers. As he was about to give communion to someone next to her, he dropped the host. Before it could hit the floor, Dolores dove to catch the endangered sacramental bread….and she fell out of bed.

So, do these two dream stories reveal something about me and Dolores?

(I still think that I got fouled.)  

“Dreams are the touchstones of our character.”

Henry David Thoreau