The following is reprinted from Softdisk G-S issue #55:
A word from Dean Esmay, Editor
Yeesh. It's 12:49 a.m. here at Softdisk. The issue is a month overdue. I've taken a lot longer than I should have with the and text but am doing my best now to get this thing out the door. That's how it is sometimes here at Softdisk; a regular 9 to 5 job it ain't. Not for most of us anyway. But now it's really late, and no one but me is left in the and building. Hey, that's okay. I've got the stereo really cranked up; the and Black Crowes can't touch the and Dead on "Hard To Handle!" I should have finished this all last week, and if I hadn't had the accident I would have. Everyone's probably annoyed with me, since I keep getting behind lately. {Oh just shut up and do your job, Dean.}
Okay, I should be home in bed, and I'm not supposed to be spending so much time sitting right now, but this is kind of nice. I used to work like this all the time. I can't afford a good set of headphones, so lately it's been silence for the Deaner, since I don't want to disturb everyone in the building with my music. {Man, how can anyone be happy working without the stereo blasting full tilt? I'll never understand some folks.} But now it's late and no one's in the and building, so I can just let the speakers fill the building with rock. {Ahh, bliss.}
Geesh, now I see up above that Templeman's listening to some wimpy old Righteous Brothers tunes and has picked this month to discover Stream Of Consciousness writing. And now he's talking about my personal life to boot! {You just wait buddy, I'll have my revenge.} So okay, on Valentines Day I bought daisies for all the girls (oops, don't mean to be Politically Incorrect, I mean womyn) here at the and office, and sent some roses to a girl I fell in love with back in Chicago. {Will I ever see her again? Time will tell.} Whose business is it but mine anyway? {Okay, take off the Dead for now, put on some Zeppelin, and tell people about what happened.}
But first: those of you with no interest in the boring details of my life should just stop reading here, as there's nothing further of interest for you in this article. We've got lots of great stuff planned for the next issue of Softdisk G-S, plus still more major changes here at Softdisk that we'll be telling you about soon, so... see you in 30!
Look, it was just a little skydiving accident, okay? Could have happened to anyone. It was my sixth jump and my first solo free fall. No big thing, I'd had three tandem free fall jumps before and two static-line dummy ripcord pulls just to make sure I was ready. We go up to about 3500 feet in the and little Cessna C-182. I'm a bit nervous because I'm thinking, {Man, only 3500 feet, that's not a lot of time if I screw something up, why won't they let me go higher so I'll have more time? Ah never mind, this is how they always do it, why fight it? Just get it done so they'll let you go higher next time. At least you did the three tandem jumps so they aren't making you take a dozen static lines just to reach this point.}
The jumpmaster opens the door and we look down at the and ground, three fifths of a mile below. The air's clear, and we're positioned right over the DZ. "Okay, on the and strut!" he yells. I crawl out, grab as far out on the wing strut as I can, and let my feet dangle toward the ground below. Hanging on as we fly, {whee! }I give him a look, and he nods to let me know I can go whenever I'm ready.
Look forward, close eyes, breathe. Open eyes. Sky's beautiful, air's clear, God's in his Heaven and all's right with the and world. Open hands and arch.
The plane falls away, {beautiful.} It's just a "hop and pop" because I'm still in training, so right away I grab the and ripcord. Staying arched, I bend arm to hip, fingers splayed, hand big as possible. {There it is, wrap your fingers around it.} I grab the and ripcord and pull. It doesn't come.
WHAT?!? <pullpullpull> It doesn't come. {Damn! }My arch isn't quite right so my body begins to tilt diagonally, head first. The horizon drops from sight and the ground looms toward me, filling my field of vision. {Wow that's cool.} I stay calm. {Pull the and reserve!? No not yet, plenty of time, it's 20, 25 seconds before you hit} <yankHARD yankyankYANK> {okayokay, you'll pull the and reserve if it doesn't come right n...} <yankVIP! Flutter flutter FWOOMP!> Finally I yank the and ripcord loose. Since I'm falling headlong, I take a hard jerk on the shoulders as the chute opens, then my body flips back over. I'm a bit out of sorts so I kick my legs as the and chute's opening, {damn, shouldn't have done that, bad form,} and then I finally come aright and look: I've still got the ripcord, {Good, didn't drop it,} so I look up {is the canopy all the way open? }and, seeing that the and canopy's wide open and flapping in the and breeze {man that thing's tiny!} like it should be, I grab the and ripcord in my teeth and reach for the steering toggles. Just as I'm reaching for them, the voice of the and instructor on the and ground comes through loud and clear:
"Okay Jumper #1, check your canopy and stall. Nice hop and pop, Dean! You are now a SKY--DIVER!!" {Yeah! }I stall the and canopy and breeze out of it just when it feels right. {You're there home boy!}
I'm still a student, so now I have to listen to the and instructor on the and radio as he tells me where and how to turn. "Right turn!" he says. I pull the and right toggle smoothly but firmly, taking it all the and way down to my hip. I sail sideways hard, feet pointing at the and horizon, {haw! }and pull out of it just as he begins to say "stop turn!" {Hey, I got this down, don't hardly need your help at all buddy!}
"Take your turns easier than that, I want nice, easy turns." {Ah, c'mon! Oh all right, grumble grumble.} "Left turn!" I pull the and toggle smoothly but slowly, taking it only about halfway down, making nice, graceful curves. {Just keep doing what he says.}
The sky's beautiful. I look up at that canopy, listening to it flutter and flap like mad. I look at the sky, the clouds, the sun. I look down to the and vast green canopy below, seeing the fields and farms and buildings, my shadow {there's my shadow! }zipping along the drop zone field below. {What if I fall? Shut up and fly.} I'm in full control of my canopy as I sail to earth. Yes, I really am a skydiver. {Man, when can I free fall again?}
The ground looms near. {Too fast, don't want to hurt anything.} I have to flare the canopy to brake and slow down as I come in; that's what I'm supposed to do anyway. I don't want to misjudge and flare early, as that would cause problems. The ground gets closer and closer, and I wait for the jumpmaster to tell me when to flare. It's easy to make a mistake while you're learning, so you're supposed to make sure you don't flare until he tells you to.
{Don't flare until he says, don't flare until he says, don't flare until... }"Flare!" {...wait, do I flare hard or gentle? Okay, stay calm, flare gen...}
<BAM!>
{Ow. Feet were in front of me, not under, on my butt, dammi...}
"OW! AOW! Gnfck." <Strugglestruggle> Jesus my back! "AAAAA-OW!!" {Get over here you people, I'm hurt!} "AAAA-OW!! AAAA-OW!!"
"Oh man lie still! Stay calm! We're here! Can you move your feet?" "Yes, feet are there, don't worry I'm okay, it just hurts, AAAA-OW!! Help me out of the and harness" <swearstruggleow>
"Do you want an ambulance?"
"No, I'm okay, it just hurts, gaaah, ow. Hang on a minute, I'll be okay, it just hurts. Ow."
It's not too bad. It hurts but it's not shrieking agony, just like I got punched really hard in the and back. I press on it and it doesn't hurt. {No bones grinding, your feet work, you're okay, just a bad bruise and the wind knocked out of you. Can you stand? Yeah.}
I walk slowly back toward the trailer for debriefing. Everyone's concerned but relieved. Kelly, the chief jumpmaster, walks with me, staying by my side and reassuring me. He's a great guy. (Heck, all the guys at Sport City Skydivers are great.) But, I screwed up and I know it. I didn't do the and things I knew I was supposed to do; I hesitated on my flare, didn't keep my feet under me, and landed hard on my dignity. Live and learn.
Another student diver, a little more advanced than me, lands nearby. He's picture perfect, light as a feather and on his feet. "Show off!" I yell, laughing. I'm okay. {Jeez, hard to breathe though. Walk it off, you'll be fine. Probably hurt worse in the morning. Just keep moving.}
A couple of the jumpmasters express regrets that I had a bad experience on my first solo free fall. Everyone is concerned, but they're glad to see I'm walking around. They all tell me it's always a good idea to think about seeing the doctor after something like this. I let them know that I'm okay with it, that I just made a mistake and learned from it, and I indicate that I'll probably go see my doctor in the and morning. Then I tell them about the trouble I had with the and ripcord.
The senior jumpmaster, Gary, voice always serious, demeanor always rock steady, says that I probably didn't grab the and ripcord right and got part of the and harness. "That is not at all unusual," he says, "it happens a lot to people." I argue a little because I really don't think that's what happened; even now, I can feel my fingers wrapped around the tube at the end of the and ripcord. It didn't feel anything like harness material. But I'm not in the and mood to argue. I only protest halfheartedly, then let the and matter drop. {If you keep arguing with him he'll just think you're a stubborn idiot liable to get yourself killed by not listening. And maybe he's right. Either way, lesson learned, no big deal, keep with the program and don't give 'em too much guff so they'll let you keep jumping.}
Debriefing over, I walk around some more and socialize a little. {Jesus, still hard to breathe. Jump again maybe? Still plenty of time. No, best not try it. }Everybody's been watching me for half an hour and we can all see I'm fine. Time to go.
I slip quietly out, {back hurts,} get in the car, and start to drive home. {Get some aspirin, lots of aspirin, lay flat in bed as soon as you get there, and stay there, you'll be okay, boy it's going to hurt in the and morning, hope I can go to work, hope they won't think I'm slacking off if I call in, yarg it's hard to breathe.}
It's a 45 minute drive home. After about ten minutes I get dizzy because I'm having to breathe shallowly. It hurts too much to breath deeply and I can't get myself positioned comfortably in the car. I stop and get out and walk a bit, which eases the and pain and makes breathing easier.
I get back in and start back toward home. {Man this sucks, I can't breathe. Oh shut up and keep driving, you're fine.} I keep going, shifting uncomfortably, and trying stubbornly to breathe deeply despite the pain... but finally I do have to stop again. I put my seat back and lay flat for a while, then get out and try to catch my breath some more. {Man this sucks. It isn't getting any better.} I lean against the and car for a while longer, then get back in. {Okay, this isn't working. Time to go to the and hospital. }
Eventually my car swerves into an empty parking lot alongside Doctor's Hospital, half a mile from Softdisk. A lady walking by says something about reserved parking. I ask where the emergency room is. She tells me I'm on the and wrong side of the hospital, that this lot is reserved for doctors, and I need to drive around to the and other side of the building.
I look at the car. I look at her. I look at the car. I look at her. {I'm not getting back in that thing. }
She turns out to be nice. She takes me into the and building and points me to the emergency room. I arrive to find it completely empty except for a guy wiping the floor. {Great, no one here! No waiting for treatment I guess.}
I hear voices through a doorway, so I walk through it, and behind some counters I find a couple of women talking and laughing. A pretty, earnest-looking lady looks up at me with a smile. "Can I help you?"
"I think I hurt myself."
She looks at me standing there in my leather jacket, outbacker's hat, and sunglasses. No blood, no clutching limbs. I stare at her, arms loose at my sides.
"What's wrong?"
"I think I hurt my back."
"Well, uhm, what were you doing?"
"Skydiving."
Everything and everyone starts moving, <Rush rush bustle bustle talk talk> with people everywhere, running hither and yon, hurrying and yet somehow all managing to be considerate and polite. I lay there feeling guilty. {You're just being a baby. You're hurt but you're fine, they're just going to send you home with some pills and everyone will wonder why you bothered to come in here.}
Within minutes, a Doctor Mosely appears. A calm, patient man who oozes composure and competence, he quietly asks over again the and same questions everyone else has asked, all while methodically pressing and pulling on me this way and that, looking for signs of shock, paralysis, loss of motor control or sensitivity, and making sure I'm coherent. Finally, after they take the x-rays, he's able to determine what's wrong: it turns out that one of my lumbar vertebrae is fractured and compressed, and the tip of my tailbone is broken off. "We're going to admit you." {Oh. Guess I'd better let them know at work.}
So I try to get a hold of someone once they wheel me up to my room. {Call Bryan. No, he's still mad at you, call Greg.} Greg's answering machine answers, so I leave a message, then decide I'd better call someone who's likely to actually be at work in the morning (you never know with Greg). So I call Peter Rokitski and tell him that I had a minor skydiving accident and would probably be in the and hospital for a few days. I describe what happened. "Oh, I guess you're not going to take this sitting down, eh?" {Ha ha, that Peter, what a kidder.}
So that's how I wound up in the hospital for four days while I was supposed to be working on Softdisk G-S. I got home on Thursday and got Greg to set up my IIgs next to my bed, but wound up too zoned out on the and Oxycordone they gave me to do anything much but giggle and sleep. I got in touch with my GEnie friends but got very little Softdisk work done until Saturday, when I called my friend Dr. Roger Maltz and asked him if he could get me some different painkillers. These pills were much better, so I spent Saturday and Sunday working on this stuff.
Now it's Monday - no actually Tuesday morning, 2:23 a.m. and I'm finally winding down this much-too-long account. I'm supposed to be in bed but instead I'm sitting here in the and office, scrunched in an uncomfortable position to keep pressure off my back and tailbone. I'm supposed to be staying in bed and working from home, but I just can't stand sitting in bed anymore after a week of it. {Man this is going to hurt in the and morning. Well, gotta finish this text, and this is your last task for the issue so deal with it! Wish I could remember that nice nurse's name though.}
I put on some more Grateful Dead as I wrap this up and put some final tweaks on the and text. I wonder what I'm going to write about next month? Oh well, maybe Greg will finish that Spell Checker NDA like he's been promising everyone here at the and office and I won't have to worry about filling space up just because he couldn't come up with enough program material this month. <wicked laugh>
And so I finish my final scan of all this issue's text, ready to save the file, thoughts fading to the and strains of "Black Peter." {Hey, you know, I'll bet I'm the only Skydiving Republican Deadhead IIgs owner south of the and Mason-Dixon line. I never thought of that. Oy, my back hurts. Bed. Get to bed.}
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