On July 31st, while visiting my family in Tennessee, I decided to try to fly down a flight of stairs and broke my left foot and my right ankle.
Okay, I actually was really excited about going downtown Beale St. and I was probably walking faster then I should down the flight of stairs to ask my sister which pair of shoes to wear. I mean, I had to look good. It had been too freaking long since my husband and I went somewhere remotely interesting; even if my minions were tagging along. Well … a step to quick, and down I went. I remember landing on all fours (really glad I didn’t decide to go commando due to the dress I was wearing) and screaming (excuse me language), “Fuck! I broke my ankle!” I knew it. It was hard to not, considering I felt my ankle snap. This was one of those moments that I’m extremely lucky that my husband is a Paramedic, because he stepped into action. As my husband and father carried me to the car, all I was thinking, “Well, there goes a nice evening.” I was actually pissed that I got hurt. I was enjoying my vacation. A trip to the ER later, I was informed on what was broken and was told that I needed surgery on my right ankle. Shit. I’m 800 miles away from home. My husband needs to be back home in a couple of days. The option was to stay and get admitted or go home. There was no way around the fact that my husband had to go to work. And, I couldn’t imagine going through surgery without him. Therefore; we decided to head back home.
My adorable grandparent let me scoot around in one their wheelchair.
How did I get home, you ask? The smart option was to fly and I even had free ticket but only for me. I was not about to let my husband drive 800 miles with 2 kids under the age of 5. Hell no. Insane decision? Yes. We left a couple of days later and turned our typically one day, 12 hour drive, into 2 day trip. It wasn’t that bad … I just couldn’t move. And, luckily, we weren’t side swiped. That was in my mind the whole way home. As you can see in the picture above, mobility was an issue during the trip. My ass wasn’t getting out of the car. It would have been different if we didn’t have 2 small children, but my poor husband couldn’t take me to the restroom and my kids at the same time – rest stop restrooms don’t offer a family bathroom option.
Man … this is getting long. Sorry.
I had surgery on my right ankle. I had a walking boot on my left foot and a cast on my right. I was given a walker but was told to have limit mobility. Therefore, I was practically bed bound for 4 weeks. My husband had to cut down shifts at work and my family home took over helping with my kids because I literally couldn’t take care of them. After 4 week mark from my surgery, I was upgraded to a walking boot on my right ankle.
Last Thursday, I was given the big “A-Okay” to officially walk, BOOT FREE! I am beyond thrilled. I can actually live life again. I was pissed that this happened but it made me appreciate life. Also, that my ass needed to loose weight. Recovery is no joke and these extra fluff isn’t helping.
Now, I will get to beep walking through metal detectors.
My oldest son, now thinks that my right leg is half robot. I haven’t disagreed.