Self-Pitying Self-Portrait, MSN Paint, 2/16/11Turns out that I am...Vincible, that is. I guess I shouldn't be surprised, but I can't even count the number of times I've twisted an ankle while walking or running. It's always been Oh! Oh, whew -- I'm okay... flex, twist, then carry on. Let's just say it's happened often enough to make me feel like I'm special.
But yesterday was different. I knew it was different as soon as it happened.
First of all, my ankle didn't just bend and flex. It formed an L with my leg, apparently allowing that knobby bone on the outside of it to touch the ground hard enough to snap it. (At least that's how I picture it.)
Also, I didn't just wobble a bit and then right myself. I pitched forward, hollering bad words as I fell. I tore holes in both of my hands, apparently in some half-assed attempt to distract myself from the pain in my rapidly swelling ankle. (It didn't work.)
And even though I tried to convince the two lovely people who rushed to my aid -- and myself -- that I was okay, that I meant to do that, the fact that it took both of them to get my butt off the street and onto the curb was evidence to the contrary.
But I managed to hold it together like one of those "tough cookies" you always read about long enough for My Awesome Husband Greg to come and rescue me. (Glad I'd thought to grab my phone as I headed out!) Once I was safely buckled into the car, though, I lost it.
"It hurts so baaaaaad!" I wailed.
And then, just for effect, I started heaving. (I didn't throw up in the car, though; I was able to save that until we got home.)
The rest of the evening is a long story that needs to be cut short, so let me just say that we spent two delightful hours waiting in the after-hours clinic with a bunch of dripping, wheezing, coughing people who thought there was some magic pill they could take to make the flu go away.
When we were finally given the results of the x-ray, I was triumphant...I don't have a pitifully low pain threshold; it wasn't just a bad sprain; it was a break, and those are supposed to hurt!
My foot was packed into one of those big, clunky, velcroed boots that stabilize everything you put in them, and we were told we'd be referred to an orthopedic surgeon the next day.
And that part was much quicker, easier, and way more fun...
Since MAHG had a VIA (Very Important Appointment), I relied on the kindness of my Sweet Friend Catey for transportation and assistance.
My ankle -- well, my entire left leg below the knee, actually -- is now encased in a fiberglass cast of the loveliest shade of royal blue. Secure and stabilized, it hardly hurts at all (unless myself or MAHG bumps it), and I think everything is going to be all right. In about four weeks. I'm trying not to think about the interim.
And I do have Charlie to distract me...
