Last Friday was a pretty normal day for me. Lots of errands to run, things like write a blog post, wash/fold/put away a few loads of laundry, stop by the grocery store, go to the bank. That kind of stuff. I did most of it, and then the whole day went sideways on me. Literally.
Somehow as I was walking to my van, the kitten in her cat carrier in my left hand, my purse on my right shoulder, and my phone against my right ear as I spoke with my mother-in-law about picking up my daughter from their house, I fell. And you know how things happen and you don’t really know what went wrong, you just know that something did, mostly because you’re trying to pick yourself up out of the gutter? That was me. In a moment of poor coordination, I stepped off the curb and onto the side of the top of my foot – right where all the metatarsals connect to the ankle.
I’m not good with pain. When I say that, I mean I don’t recognize pain like most folks. It’s a common trait for abuse survivors. Like in the hospital after Littlest was born when I was being treated for a post-epidural spinal headache and my doctor asked me why I had allowed myself to be released with that kind of pain and all I could do was look at her and shrug. That scale of 1-10? Yeah, I don’t know how to use that thing.
So yeah, I’m not that good with pain. So the fact that I knelt in the street trying to catch my breath and having trouble ignoring the pain shooting up my leg made me a bit concerned. “I’ll have to call you back. I just fell.” “You just fell down???” “Yeah. I’ll call you back.” Mostly I hung up because I didn’t want her to hear me crying.
I picked up my cat and hobbled to the car, trying to decide if the popping sound I had heard was more concerning or that I couldn’t put weight on my foot.
Long story shorter, I ended up x-rayed and splinted and hoping that when the splint comes off I’m pain free enough to not need a cast. I found out that the screws in my feet from my bunionectomies back in 1999 are really cool looking and the following day I found out that my old torn rotator cuff and back injury were pretty cranky with me from trying to catch myself when I fell. 44 years old and feeling like a Mack truck ran me over.
I’m pretty sure it will be fine tomorrow when I take off the splint. If not, I’m pretty sure I may simply decide it is as I can’t imagine coping with a normal day in my life with a cast. No driving to the store for groceries, no taking kids to piano lessons, no normal life. Plus, I’m cringing already over getting this bill. I don’t want to add to this incident’s price tag. And for the population who has never chosen to not get medical care because of the money aspect, well, bully for you.
The bad part about spending the end of 2012 incapacitated is that not being able to do things is really, really hard for me. I’ve never thought of myself as a particularly hyperactive adult (although everyone who knew me as a child would have described me that way at times) but being immobilized makes me fairly cuckoo. I also really hate having to ask people for help. To see the remainders of the holiday chaos surround me and not being able to fix it is making me more crabby than the finest crab cake.
But being forced into stillness was not all bad.
Stillness allowed me to read many, many books since Friday. Stillness allowed me to rethink some major plot stuff in my novel. Stillness allowed me to watch my kids and husband play together.
So I end 2012 not with a bang but with a sprain. Perhaps also with many more allowances than I could have hoped for.
Be well my friends. Let’s ring in the new year with only one of us hobbling about the place.