I try to make my posts over here as inspirational and as positive as I can. This one however, might just be the exception to that rule. But how can it be, when I title it like that? More time to write? That is a gift!
Except when you do it like this:
Yes, my leg says “Yes”. Why? I had surgery Friday and they do that to make sure they have the correct limb. Because you know I woulda been pretty mad if I had woken up and they had operated on my perfectly good right foot.
So I’m sure you’re wondering what I did. Oh how I wish I could tell you I did some awesome thing like Skiing or Dancing With the Stars (that would be a terrible sight btw, so maybe it’s a good thing I don’t have such an awesome story to tell).
No. Here’s what I did, and what happened afterward.
Last Friday night (I did not dance on tabletops, I may have maxed out credit cards with an ER bill, but I did not go streaking in the park – sorry for Katy Perry reference, but man oh man, that was what I hear in my head after I typed that haha)
Last Friday night, Dec. 9 at 6pm I was dropping one of my daughters off, to do this: (see photo on right)
During the month of December, my kids participate in Christmas Traditions on Main Street in St. Charles. Year round they are in a Fife & Drum corps. and we travel all over, but come Christmas time, they lead the parade down main street every single Friday, Saturday and Sunday followed by all kinds of cool Victorian characters and carolers and Santa’s from all over the world.
So last Friday, my daughter (who is visible in the background behind the flag), was heading down to play her fife for the evening crowd of shoppers that swarm the streets at night. The rest of my kids had opted out of that night and were returning home with me after we dropped her off.
We had to park a bit further away than usual, so we had to cross over a street to get to the cobblestones. See the cobblestones they are walking on? They are so pretty. It’s one of the things I love about main street and my town. You have to be careful when walking on cobblestones though, they are uneven and certain shoes can be detrimental to your health. I strongly recommend NO high heels, and I shake my head when I see people down there in them. So unsafe. Anyway.
That’s not the point. But anyway, here’s a blown up picture of the cobblestone. (see photo on left)
See, uneven, as I said. But again, that isn’t really the point here. So already I’m cautious when I’m down there. After we crossed the street, there is a step up onto this sewer before you get to the sidewalk to walk along. Well, anyone who’s ever seen a sewer knows that in front of it, is usually a dip where the water collects to fall down into it.
When there’s cobblestones involved, the dip is larger than normal, and WAY uneven. I stepped down into the dip and my foot decided it liked that spot so it stayed put. I fell forward while my foot stayed totally straight and wedged into this little dip. I heard a snap, I felt a snap and my kids scrambled to help me up. What I can remember is that my foot didn’t actually dislodge from its location until after I began to get back up. By then the pain was excruciating and I knew this was not a simple sprain. In fact, I guessed at the time that I had torn at least a ligament if not two. I knew it wasn’t broken, or at least I assumed it wasn’t. It took me about 5 minutes standing on one leg and balancing on my daughter to work up the nerve to hop back to the van. I sent my fifing daughter on her merry way to go fife the night away, telling her we’d be back in a few hours.
I won’t lie – I was wondering how I was going to manage coming back to get her, but I was thanking God, literally that it was my left foot and not my right.
Did I happen to mention that my husband was out of town for this? Yeah. Like 2000 miles away in Portland, OR for work.
So I’m not sure how I did it, but I did manage to drive us the 20 minutes home. Hobbled into the house with a lot of support from my kids and crashed on the couch trying to figure out what to do. It took me 15 minutes to work up the nerve to actually take my shoe off because the pain was so bad.
I took some Motrin, put some ice on it and come 8:00pm I hobbled out the door to get my daughter from main street, making a brief stop at Walgreens to see if they had a brace of some kind. They didn’t. But I did pick up some crutches because there was no WAY I could get around without them.
By 11pm I knew I had to go to the ER. My foot & ankle were swollen about 3x’s the size they are normally. Taking my two oldest with me, we headed down to the ER.
Three hours later I was on my way home with a partial cast, a diagnosis of a sprain, a prescription for Vicodin and a follow up appointment requested for Monday with an Orthopedic Surgeon. That probably should have been my first clue something was amiss.
onday morning I was calling the OS and they didn’t understand why the ER doc would have me follow up with an OS for a sprain. I couldn’t really answer that. At all. After several hours and many phone calls later, and everyone being booked until after Christmas, my mom called and remembered my OS’s name that we used when I was a kid. What are the chances he’s still practicing? He is! This was good news. I loved him. He reminds me of Albert Einstein. I’m not sure why though 😉 Do you happen to know?
Anyway. Appointment was scheduled for Tuesday, which was good, because my ankle was looking REALLY bad. And it only seemed to keep getting worse. The pain was awful. This photo was taken on day 3.
Anyway, after only 10 minutes with my Orthopedic Surgeon, I was scheduled for surgery for that Friday (which was this past Friday). Turns out, I didn’t sprain my ankle or my foot. In fact, what I did was apparently much worse than that. Ready? I ruptured my Achilles Tendon. In layman’s terms, I snapped the damn thing in half. Yep. Not connected. At all.
Don’t even get me started on how irritated I am with the ER for not seeing this in the 3 x-rays they took, or for not calling in a specialist. My OS said I should’ve had surgery that night.
So Friday I had surgery and I have been told this is going to take 12 weeks to heal. The pain sucks, the Vicodin doesn’t seem to work for very long and I don’t like taking it, and I’m tired of sitting still and not being able to do anything. (yes, I’d like some cheese to go with my whine). I’m allowed to whine – you don’t want to even know what this feels like.
However, as everyone keeps reminding me, I do have more time to write. Yes, I suppose I do.
Except this is not how I wanted it.