Anyone that knows me IRL, knows that I’m not what you’d consider graceful. I’ve never taken a dance class, ice skated, done gymnastics or anything else that requires balance and coordination. Walking without falling typically requires most of my brain cells, which is why you’ll rarely see me chewing gum and walking simulaneously (hahaha, just joking….well, maybe not). This lack of grace started quite early on for me. I think I was around 3-4-5 years old when I tripped going into our living room (there was a 1″ step up into the living room) and caught myself by putting my hand on our wood stove – that resulted in a burnt palm/fingers. And that was just the beginning…there was falling/rolling off of our deck, falling in the middle of winter on the bottom step and cracking my back across the stairs, broken fibula in high school that required surgical intervention to stabilize the break with a metal plate and 3 screws, at least one fall on our frost covered deck of the last house, the hilarious but humiliation fall while running up the stairs at MSU when I was wearing a leather trenchcoat (hands deep in my pockets with my discman turning out some Alanis) and fell in such a way that I was like a turtle on it’s back – I couldn’t get my hands out of my pockets because I was laying on them on the flight of stairs…oh the list could go on for a very long time. Sooooo, you may not be surprised by the photos you see below…
Please, if you cannot see the photos clearly, click on the picture and it’ll open up the full size pic for you to see clearly.
Yes, that’s right, my friends. I broke my stinking (hahaha) foot. Friday morning, the kids and I had plans to go with the neighbor and her kids to the beach for the day. After a week of rain, this 80+ degree morning was going to be a
rockin’ day. I’d spent the entire rainy week cleaning the house from top to botton and I could go to the beach and spend the entire day, GUILT FREE. So the kids were outside playing while I packed up my rig with our beach gear. I had one lone bag left in the house and we’d be off for a day of sun, sand and water. I was feeling pretty good, had a little bounce to my step (that should’ve tipped me off right away that something was going to happen). I bounded up the stairs a little bit quicker than I normally would have and on the 2nd to last step, I
think the tip of my right shoe caught the edge of the stair and since I was travelling at warp speed (which would equal fast turtle to most of you normal folks), when I bought my left foot up and caught myself, my foot slipped off of my sandal and I felt/heard this loud
POP! Followed closely behind that was the foot numbness and then the blinding pain. I
walked from the doorway over to the couch and sat down. I took my sandal off and did the pain dance. Oh you know the one – where if you hurt your finger, you squeeze it tight as you rock back and forth as you hope that you cut the circulation off to your finger as to diminish the pain? Yeah, that one. I was trying to do that with my foot. Once my fogginess cleared, I took a peek at my foot expecting to see bruising, swelling, ugliness in general. Uh, nothing. Hmph. Must be ok then. I put my foot on the floor and saw stars…guess maybe it wasn’t going to be alright. So now what? Ok, I need to call Joe. For some unknown reason (or maybe it was the extremely painful foot), I thought my cell phone was in the car in my cup holder. So I had Nate open the door of the Explorer (I’m yelling directions to the kids from a kitchen chair I’d managed to crawl over to by the door) and had Lexi get in and look for my phone. My heart sank when I heard her say “it’s not there Momma”. Crap. OH! I had a small brain fart…it was in my back pocket.
Just a little background info – Joe has been working at the main facility of the company for 2 weeks. It’s end of quarter, there’s TONS of stuff going on and he’s been working his butt off (and still going to school 2 nights per week).
Sooo, I grabbed my cell phone and dialed Joey. The building that he was in his made of concrete and the cell service is non-existant in there. So I wasn’t overly surprised that he didn’t pick up. No problem, I have 2 more numbers I can try – one a direct line into the building and then also a cell phone # of the guy he was working with. Uh, got voicemail on both of those. While it wasn’t my first choice, I decided to give Joe’s cell number another try and leave him a message. I was completely shocked when he picked up. I was so relieved and then felt guilty that I was bothering him that I ended up crying and could barely get out words. When I finally got out a short version of what happened, he told me he’d be in the car in 10 minutes.
After I got off the phone with him, I sent a text message to my neighbor and told her I had a change of plans, that I’d hurt my foot and Joe was coming home to take me to the ER. Within just a minute or two, she was walking up the same stairs where I’d met my fate not 15 minutes before. She stayed with me until Joe got home – she watched the kids, kept me company…was a really good friend.
Joe would normally be 45 minutes away when he’s at work but since he was at their main facility he was an hour and a half away so he made it home sometime around 11:30 (the fall happened at 9:30). Joe loaded the kids in the car as I slid my butt down the very stairs that did me in and then hopped on one foot to the car, which Joe had gotten within feet of the stairs.
We made the 35 minute trip to the ER, where everyone in the county had fallen, had a chainsaw accident, been run over by a car. After about 40 minutes of waiting as a family, I had Joe take the kids to the park while I waited. I finally got called back after about an hour and a half. Then it was same old, same old. Doc comes in to ask what happened. I laugh, give a quick version of what happened and then I have xrays. Doc pops his head in really quick and says “You have a broken foot. I’ll be back in a bit to show you the xrays and let you know what we’re going to do for it.” Thankfully, once I actually got back into the consultation room, things went fairly quickly. And before I knew it, I was sporting an “ortho boot”. It’s stylish, a pretty shade of grey and comes with it’s own freakishly long and stretchy sock.
So without further ado, some photos to help you visualize my humiliation…
Ah yes, the scene of the attack.
When I arrive in hell, this will be my mode of transportation.
I guess I should explain a little bit more. When they gave me the ortho boot, they said that if the pain was tolerable, I could just walk out of there. I gave them that WTH look. Dude, my foot is BROKEN. But they said a lot of times, the ortho boot distributes your weight more evenly on the foot and many people don’t need crutches. Uh, not me. I put weight on my foot and thought I was going down for a second time that day. So, I got the crutches. And to quote a dear friend, “Crutches are not made for fat people.” And I just had to reiterate that. They are NOT made for fat people, especially ones with arthritis. Using the crutches to get from the hospital to the car and then into the house has left me with armpits and shoulders like jelly. I wonder if I could get a massage of my armpits? Hmmm, I’ll have to ask my friend, Candy, she’s a massage therapist.
Anyway, it became apparent quite quickly that the crutches were NOT going to work well for me. As we were pulling into the driveway, Joe says “what about a walker? Do you think that would help you get around?” I told him I wasn’t sure but I’d be willing to try. As soon as we pulled into the driveway, the neighbor that sat with me earlier that day came over to see what the verdict was. After I told her, I mentioned the walker thing and she said that her MIL had a walker in their basement and I could use it.
So if it weren’t bad enough that I broke my foot, I’m hobbling around like a 90 year old with a walker. But hey, it made it MUCH easier for me.
So, here’s my walker. 
And the result of a fracture of the 5th metatarsal is the gorgeous grey ortho boot.
Me and Natey kicking back and relaxing.
So I have to keep it elevated for another day or so and put an ice pack on it every 2-3 hours for 30 minutes at a time. I have an appt on Tuesday with an orthopedic surgeon to make sure that nothing further is required (like surgery). The ER doc said it was a nice, clean break but he’s not an orthopedist and wanted it looked at again.
I’m grateful that it really doesn’t hurt much. After the inital couple of hours, as long as I wasn’t putting any pressure on it, it was as if it weren’t broken. But then I’d flex my toes and it would shoot pain towards my toes and up towards my ankle simultaneously. Then I’d remember, oh yeah, my foot’s broken and there’s a reason I’m wearing this extremely hot boot. I also figured out a way to walk today. As long as I keep all my weight on the heel of my foot and keep my foot at a 90 degree angle, it doesn’t hurt much. I just have to go slow, which isn’t all that far from typical.
So that was our excitement for yesterday. The doc said that I should be in the boot for about 6 weeks. And I’m hopeful that it’ll be a MAX of 5 weeks. We’ll see what the ortho says on Tuesday.
Here you can see it much better.
Even with the dirty face, I really love this pic.
Faces of Alexis
Max was even cooperative yesterday. He’s looking so old – must be the kids! He’s only 6.
A couple of the girls together.
I have no idea what they were laughing about but another one of my favorites.
