So, I was lucky enough to have the previous week off of work. Big plans were made. Spend some time up at our family lakehouse in Rhinelander - home of the Hodag! - take a quick day trip to Chicago. It was going to be great.

Unfortunately, the day before our drive north I severely sprained my ankle while hiking at Devil's Lake. Being the tough (or is that dumb?) guy that I am, I initially refused to heed the advice of my better half and neglected to seek medical attention. It's just an ankle. Rub a little dirt on it. Walk it off. The damage is done . . . nothing left to see here.

Well, it turns out that a sprained ankle can be pretty painful. And purple. And the size of a softball.

A week later, when I had finally become convinced that my foot was in fact going to fall off, I saw a doctor.

"Why did you wait?" asked the very kind M.D. I unconvincingly muttered something about my extraordinary virility, receiving a wry smile in return. No broken bones, three x-rays confirmed. I'm now the proud owner of a brand new air cast.

Nonetheless, we did make it to The Northwoods. And despite my being hobbled, had a great time. Brie (the aforementioned better half) had a close encounter with a bald eagle, we met all of the town's newest Hodags, and thoroughly enjoyed the peace and quiet . . . aside from my occasional whimpering.

The moral of the story: Clearly I no longer possess the cat-like agility of my youth. But perhaps more importantly, that my communication skills still need some fine-tuning. Despite Brie's persuasive arguments that I should see a doctor - number one among them "your foot might be broken, you dolt" - I wasn't really practicing active listening. Or active thinking, apparently. And as my fellow students can attest, listening - really listening - is key to good communication. Not to mention, it turns out, making sound medical decisions.

Now, if you will excuse me, it's time to ice the softball.