I’ve always known that I was clumsy. I’m talking, trip on a crack in the sidewalk, run like a toddler just learning to walk clumsy.
But I think I have finally hit a new low or (high) in clumsiness – depending on how you look at it of course.
On Friday last week I was in the office when I got a phone call. I took my cell outside to have my conversation because it’s easier to hear and there’s less chance of the call dropping. As I was talking and listening, I was pacing; something I do naturally when I’m on the phone. I simply can’t sit and have a conversation of any kind on the phone, especially when it’s an idea generating, learning something new conversation. My body simply must move to keep up with my mouth and my brain.
Well, my body moved alright. As I was turning to pace back (from having paced forth?), I twisted my left foot to the outside and rolled it. Ouch! I caught myself before I fell over and hobbled to a post to hold myself up. I knew. I JUST. KNEW. That something cracked. I heard it. I felt it.
I wrapped up my call quickly and tip toed/limped back to the office. My foot didn’t look swollen and I could move the majority of it. I was thought that I had sprained it but the idea that it could be broken started to creep in. We put my foot up, iced it, and I sat and worked and contemplated how bad it hurt and whether I should go to the hospital. It had really started to give me a throbbing kind of pain, and when I stood up… holy Mary mother of Gawd… It was definitely an “I want my mommy” moment. The gals got me to my car and I decided to head home and pick up the teenager in case I needed a driver back from the hospital. (Let’s not go into who drove home from the hospital, mkay?)
My First Ever Confirmed Broken Bone
About five years or so ago, the boys once slammed the front door to our enclosed porch on my right foot. My big toe swelled up ginormously and throbbed like someone was beating it with a hammer. I didn’t walk right for a month. Friday seemed similar in that once again, I wouldn’t be walking right for a while…
Three x-rays, Vicodin, a fiberglass half cast, and an hour or so later and my foot was most certainly broken. It’s just a little break (is there such a thing as a little break?) but it darn sure didn’t feel that way when it happened.
So for the next six weeks, I’m to baby my foot. I’m out of a cast now (thank you Lord because I could not scoot down stairs One. More. Time.) and I’m in a walking boot or air cast (not sure which is which but I get to “pump” it up so that’s pretty fun). I’m still using my crutches for extra support and with any luck, I will be boot free by the time Type-A Conference comes. Though I will still be in the boot during Bebe’s trip to Washington DC, it will be my next to last week in it so I’m hoping that I won’t have any problems (did I mention that I’m chaperoning?).
So I’m hopeful that I can do the trip with no problems and that I’ll be back to normal soon (Prayers ya’ll). I’ve shortened my commuting schedule so I’m more in the home office than I am “in the office” and that allows more time to baby the foot, read, write, and work at a pace that bodes well for healing.
Reality of the Broken Bone Sets In
Murphy’s Law dictates that as soon as you can’t do something, you suddenly want to do it (Actually I think the saying goes, “Whatever you want, you can’t have, what you can have, you don’t want” or “Whatever you want to do, is not possible, whatever is possible for you to do, you don’t want to do it”); either way, Murphy and his damn laws have me pegged perfectly. Suddenly I want to start that exercise program that I’ve been putting off, (I had planned on starting the 2 Week Challenge for Mamavation on April 30th but not quite sure how I can do that now. Suggestions on exercises that I can do one-footed are welcome), bike ride, hike, go out dancing; you name it and now I want to do it.
I handled the first couple of days of being in a cast quite horribly. I was weepy, grouchy, exhausted, physically and mentally. Though I could laugh at how it happened (always able to laugh at my own clumsiness), it didn’t matter much because I could barely get to the bathroom on my own, (let alone up and down to do… you know) and have to depend/wait on everyone around me to get something to eat or drink. I do not wait patiently. Patience and grace are two things I am lacking. I also don’t like feeling cooped up or imprisoned. I love freedom and the idea of weeks and weeks of not being able to move around or get where I needed to easily terrified me and made me very angry.
My husband likened my mood and whininess to a Snickers Commercial on Monday afternoon and that’s when it hit me, I have been a bit of a whiny butt. Okay, a lot of a whiny butt. Yes, this is uncomfortable as all get out (maybe less now that I’m in an air cast boot) and it limits me but it’s not forever. It’s temporary. Yes, I could probably screw up my foot if I’m not careful (the doctor said as much) and that would just result in a longer recovery which would just make me a bigger grouch.
I realize now that my selfish, whiny attitude is going to get me nowhere because I’m pretty sure this is where I’m heading if I keep that attitude up:
Truth be told though I know this happened for a reason; not really sure where God is headed with this one, unless he has a twisted sense of humor and this will somehow make me a better dancer. At this moment, I’m just kind of cocking my head to the side and waiting to see what happens. We definitely didn’t plan on any broken bones and the bills are already rolling in from our trip to Columbus so I don’t think the plan was to stretch our pocketbooks even farther. Whatever the reason, hopefully it will reveal itself before I get out of the air cast boot.
In the meantime, I am going to learn how to hobble as best as I can, lighten up a little, trust that there is a greater reason for my new, temporary situation, and maybe just maybe, I’ll learn to be more graceful – if not more careful when I walk and talk at the same time.