After months of dependent use, today, my knee-stroller, crutches, walker, walking boot, softer walking boot, plastic boot sleeve for showers, and what I lovingly called, my plushy “foot bed” went to the basement for storage. As celebratory as that sounds, it was oddly a bit scary and took some courage to do!
The Fall
Almost two months ago, while getting supplies for s’mores and carrying entirely too much as I do (I only had an Adirondack chair, a full Mike’s Hard Lemonade, graham crackers and chocolate in my hand), I happily bounced down the front steps at dusk on my way back to the bonfire pit at the back of our acre of paradise in the Hudson Valley. “I’m so happy!” I thought, as my foot skipped the last step and my right foot bent underneath me in unnatural angles and I hit the concrete path below, all items flying.
I lay there, my right foot in searing pain and already the size of a tennis ball on my ankle, looking up at the emerging stars. I did not have my phone. I thought, “How long will it take to find me? How stupid am I!”
I checked my head, but the wetness I felt was just the spilling of the black cherry lemonade around me.
I hopped up the steps on one leg, somehow got to the freezer for ice, and collapsed on the couch. Immediately after, my loving husband arrived, worried I’d been gone too long, and just after him, my high school bestie with the feeling that he’d been gone too long.
Instead of S’mores, I spent the night waiting in the hallway of an intense E.R. in Poughkeepsie, my foot bulging and my head in my hands.
Snapshots of the night are in my memory. My 17-year old daughter rubbing my back in the E.R. My husband getting me and all medical help and holding my hand, reassuring me and keeping me distracted with crosswords and hand squeezes.
My right foot wasn’t broken, but, they said, even worse perhaps, totally torn on both sides. CT scan and an MRI later confirmed, no break, but fully torn ligaments. This was going to be a beast of an injury to treat.
I’ve broken my arms four times, my toes and my thumb, but I’d never lost use of my foot before. Since it was my right foot, I couldn’t drive either.
We moved my daughter into college and I had to get practically carried up the stairs.
Slowly but surely, with constant love, care, and courage, I slowly got better.
And today, I put away all the symbols of this dark time.
The Stand
Why is putting away my mobility devices courageous, you may be thinking?
I was fearful putting them away. What if I fall again? What if it’s too soon and I’ll feel like a failure if I have to dig them back out? Is now the right time to put them away?
Without them I feel vulnerable, like a child taking their first steps without a walker or a parental hand. It feels risky to walk. I could fall. I could re-injure myself.
I had to adjust to was not being able to walk or drive. And transitions, even positive ones, carry some elements of uncertainty and fear.
It also feels liberating.
Today, I walked down the treacherous steep driveway with my husband, who hopped across the street to get me a bouquet of cattails. He kissed my cheek, and it was all the reward I needed.
Cheers to courageous “steps!” Subscribe for free for more stories of courage!