Crutches Are Dumb

After a week of depression, hopelessness, misery and pain, I am starting to think that my miracle healing isn’t going to happen. I really thought I would have healed right up good as new –but I’m still wearing this ugly boot and I’m still hobbling around on crutches. It’s been almost two weeks since I so graciously fell while trying to jump at the gym and broke my ankle. I still get jealous when I watch people walk around freely or see any of my friends wearing cute heels that I pray I will one day get to wear again.

When I was younger I sort of thought crutches were cool. Like if I ever saw anyone using them, I’d want to play on them for a minute or two. Now when I see them I want to throw them through a window. I thought I’d have really funny crutch stories to tell about my getting around, but once I realized how hard it was to use them and get around – I’ve resigned myself to sitting on the couch, recliner or bed and doing nothing – and there’s nothing funny I can say about any of that.

Sadly, lifting my body weight with my back, arms and shoulders to land perfectly on my good leg is very exhausting. I am a slow moving crutch walker…debating every move I make. I hate them. My arm pits hate them even more. They are the most awkward pieces of medical crap ever constructed. They are long and cumbersome and don’t fit anywhere. Wherever I try to lay them they are in the way, and I don’t want to trip the guy with two good legs in our house and have him break his ankle – then we really would be in a mess! If I lean them against a wall they inevitably crash to the ground a few minutes later, usually taking stuff with them…my drink…papers, etc. I have to take them with me everywhere I go, but once I’m there I can’t figure out what to do because I can’t hold anything and use them at the same time. Drinks aren’t exactly transportable when my hands are committed to holding my body up using the crutches.

This is so not fun.
On an end note…Eddie deserves hubby of the year award for sure after all of this. I realize that he is probably annoyed that he has to take care of my EVERY waking need. He is a saint! I have grown to love him even more than before (except for when I get mad at him for walking around unassisted). Who would have thought that bringing someone a cup of water could be so romantic?

No Fun

It’s no fun having a broken ankle. Not at all. I’m jealous that everyone around me (which pretty much only consists of Eddie and my mom) can just go on with life as usual…you know just going to the kitchen or bathroom whenever they want to…having complete freedom to wander from one room to the next. I’m jealous and I would throw myself a pity party except I can’t get out of the recliner and put decorations up and what’s a party without decorations?

Want to know something ironic? We removed the handi ramp that was attached to the house… yup…that’s correct…Eddie completely obliterated it and made it obsolete after hearing me whine about how much of an eyesore it was… now the only ways to get into our house are sets of stairs…just my luck! I have crutches (blog post detailing the torture that crutches are up next) and still it takes at least 10 minutes for me to plan my moves and get my brave face on to successfully get up 3 measly steps so that I can make it into McNest and to my beloved recliner! Ridiculous! I never should have laughed at the handi ramp! I should have decorated it with pink streamers and celebrated it for what it was!

So I’ve spent the last couple of days sitting in the recliner with my right foot elevated on some pillows and have spent the last two nights just the same except the pillows and I both move to the bed. I pretty much am getting served hand and foot by my darling husband and patient mother since I can’t seem to get around without hurting myself or wincing in pain...and while I do enjoy getting waited on, I’m annoyed that I can’t get up when I want to without inflicting sharp pains to my ankle area. I’m limiting my liquid intake as to not have to take bathroom breaks very often. I have worn stretchy pants for like 5 days in a row. I have probably slept about 50% of the day and I have complained and whined about my current state of being the other 50%. I’m also annoyed that this is really wrecking my diet groove. Eddie can still go to 9R and is going to get ahead of me on the weight loss bracket I have created in my mind. Annoying.

Also annoying is the fact that it takes me like 45 minutes to get a shower. We have one bathroom downstairs – which has a tub/shower. Well I can’t step into it. We had to get a handi shower chair so that I could sit on the edge of the tub and then pull myself onto the chair and then twist my entire body in. Once I’ve done that I’m already exhausted and I’ve yet to even start washing! I can’t stand up on one foot the whole time and get everything done, so we had to go purchase one of those shower wand things so I could pull it down. It’s ridiculous. I can’t stand it. Washing my hair is a nightmare and drying off is like a workout in itself. Plus because of me having to sit on the chair the shower curtain sometimes touches me and grosses me out even tho it’s practically brand new and clean – but it sticks to me and that makes me feel yucky and then I just get mad because I don’t want to start all over in the whole wash me process. UGH!!

When I was trying to find a bright spot to this whole broken ankle mess I’ve gotten myself into, I concluded that I couldn't have picked a better time of year to have this happen. It wasn't summer with the seriously crazy heat to stink up this boot contraption I have to wear all the time, and it wasn't around any holiday that I would miss out on. So really the whole situation isn’t interfering with anything major…oh…except my life.

Everything Happens For A Reason

You’ve heard that old saying “everything happens for a reason” right?

Let’s back up a minute…and start from the beginning. You may be wondering why I am even updating this blog after such a long hiatus. It’s because I have the time to. Why do I have time? I broke my ankle, and I can’t do anything else but sit here and pout or type on the computer. It’s not even an exciting story. You know those stories…the ones where something just so fantastic crazy happens that it’s passed on for years through the family. Sadly, my accident story isn’t like that. Nope. It was just a split second in time that has completely changed my life.

You see I had once again made the tragic mistake of signing up for my work’s Biggest Loser contest again (yes…previous lesson obviously not learned), so Eddie and I went back on the low carb diet and joined a local gym that does things in a whole different way. 9Round is… well…9 rounds of fitness and kickboxing with personal trainers. It’s fun…it’s fast…and it works. I’ll talk about 9R more in some upcoming blog posts (since I’m pretty sure I’ll have time), but for now I’ll just stick with how this tale of woe came about. After jumping rope during Round 1 I was feeling pretty good about myself. Three minutes of cardio without passing out = success for me. Round 2 was explained to me. I was supposed to jump over this little bar that was probably no more than 4 inches high and let’s just say 6 inches long that was in the floor. By the way – these measurements are nowhere near accurate… I am terrible at estimation/distance/measurements…and am actually quite prone to exaggeration (see above paragraph last sentence).

I didn’t even make it one jump before I clipped the little bar with the side of my foot, rolled my ankle, fell to the ground and immediately grabbed my ankle after hearing a “crack” and feeling the most horrific pain I have ever felt in my entire 30years of being. I knew something was wrong…and by wrong I meant I would probably never walk again. As a world class volleyball player (or sitting most of the time on the bench watching my friends play while in Jr High) and ballet dancer (when I was 4), I’ve had my share of sprains…and I hadn’t had one like this. And while it wasn’t life threatening by any means and was considerably lower on the tragic sports injury scale than say a broken back or neck injury – for me it was my first real serious injury aside from the time I knocked my front teeth out while hanging upside down on the monkey bars in elementary school.

After sitting on the floor and trying not to throw up, pass out or cry, I finally succumbed to the tears and tried to figure out in my mind what to do. Do I call my daddy and have him helicopter in to save me (which for some reason is always my first solution to any problem) or do I try to stand up and hop on out of here before anyone else sees me on the floor writhing in pain (which was probably really great advertising for the new gym in town as well – you’re welcome guys).

I went with the second alternative, and after my big strong husband picked me up out of the floor I literally hopped to the car and got home.

We got me set up in the recliner…foot propped up on pillows and ice packs galore! The only positive thing I remember from that evening was that Cheryl & Patti brought me Los Amigos so I was able to have carbs. If that wasn’t a get well present to remember I don’t know what is. For future injuries, sicknesses and hospital stays please keep in mind I love a chicken quesadilla!

The next morning Eddie took me to Doctor’s Care (which for me is kinda like that TV show Cheers – they all know my name and I have my own special chair)…the nurse came out to our car and greeted me with a wheel chair which I gladly accepted. After taking my vitals, getting x-rayed and waiting for what felt like an eternity the doctor came in and gave me the news… my ankle was broken. She might as well have reached into my chest, pulled my heart out and stomped on it right there in that little room. I spent the rest of the day feeling sorry for myself and then the majority of the next day going from being nervous to being pissed off before my ortho appointment in which they would determine the surgical state of my ankle.

After a trip to the orthopedic doctor (in which I was yet again wheel chaired into a building), I now have my very own air cast and my very own prescription for pain medication. I don’t know why they didn’t just give me a prescription for Xanax too since I can already tell my anxiety level is going to be out of control. I pray that I don’t end up on Intervention.

So everything happens for a reason right? I guess I broke my ankle because diets and exercise are stupid. Lesson learned