About a week ago I was getting my hair cut at a Hell’s Kitchen Hair Salon. I was sitting in the stylist chair when he said, “Okay, come with me and let’s wash your hair before we style it.”
I turned in the chair, stood up and took a step with my left foot. Then, naturally, I went to take a step forward with my right foot. As the right foot touched the ground a loud pop and crack noise rang out. A shock of pain shot up my foot, past the ankle and up my leg. My right foot rolled to the side and then back and my body started to fall forward. The iPhone in my hand flew out of it onto a counter to my right. My left hand flew out to my side in an attempt to catch myself on a chair next to me. My right hand flew forward in an attempt to break my fall.
The air was completely knocked out of me and I was experiencing a pain like never before. I felt as of someone had taken an axe to my ankle and tried to chop my foot off.
Yet I was at a hair salon filled with local gay men who I often run into out at the bars. I felt I had to pull off this fall to save from embarrassment and so I wouldn’t be the fool of Hell’s Kitchen. As everyone asked if I was okay I just nodded and blurted out fine. I some how managed to shove myself into the chair where customers sit to have their hair washed.
I could hear my stylist asking if I was okay and I just nodded and said “yes, fine… fine.” But honestly, I was just trying to hold myself together. I felt like vomiting because it felt so horrible.
Once my hair was washing I stood up with all my weight on my left foot, the one that wasn’t hurt. I took a deep breath and swung my right foot forward. With shocks of pain flooding through my foot, ankle and leg I limped back to the chair where I had my hair cut so that my stylist could style it.
The only thing running through my head was, “just get through the rest of this hair styling then you can fall apart.” I was, for some reason, so embarrassed to have fallen in front of those guys. At a trendy and gay hair salon, as a gay man, I wanted to come off as trendy and stylish. I did not want to come off as or remembered as the idiot boy in cheap grey capri pants that face planted in the middle of the salon.
Needless to say I made it through the styling. I managed to get myself out of the salon and hobbled my way one block to my apartment. When I got home I collapsed and told my husband everything that happened. We went to bed.
The next morning my entire right foot has swelled tremendously and the ankle turned black, blue and purple. This was the start of a long, annoying and painful recovery process.
Unfortunately, like my pride while at the salon, I learned quickly that telling people I sprained my ankle while getting my hair done was pretty embarrassing. One would think that a physically active guy who runs regularly and goes to the gym a minimum of 4 days a week, I could have a better story than… “I am the Mary that sprained his ankle getting his hair done.”