The Great Fall

So, it's Monday morning. I've been out of town for four days and I'm severely behind in my day-to-day life. I decide that rather than hit the ground running, I'll start off slowly. Pace myself. After all, what good would it do me to run out of steam at noon when I need to last until midnight?

I sit down to eat breakfast. Eggbeaters, toast, bacon, hot tea. A hearty launching. I gather the news, sip my tea, make my list for the day and give myself until 8 a.m. OK. Next step: stand up and get going.

That's where my plans all went awry.

My foot was asleep! Arrghghhghg, blpbllbpbp, klonk. That's the sound of me falling to the floor. My ankle had twisted. It wasn't pretty. I hit the TV on my way down, knocking it off the air, bounced from the table and then to my final destination. Instead of hitting the ground running, I had just hit the ground.

If anyone had been around (besides Francie, who was now licking me and wagging her stubby tail with great enthusiasm), they would have heard me groan out loud. But, if a tree falls in a forest and no one is around, does it make a sound?

I say YES! I definitely made noise. Bodily and verbally. You see, I hurt. Really, really hurt. And groaning was appropriate. As I lay there, I wondered about my future.

The first thing that ran through my mind was, "How the heck am I going to get up?" I actually hurt so much that I didn't think I could get up off the floor. I'll admit, I was being rather dramatic. Of course I could get up. I got onto my knees, employed my "good" ankle, which I had twisted back in the summer and still wasn't working properly, and hoisted my behind onto the couch. Now Francie was on my lap. "Hey, this is fun!" she said. "Get back down and play with me some more!" I deferred.

What next? Should I call someone or just go to the ER? Unlike my summer fiasco, I decided it wasn't wise to ignore it. I had blown off my fall then and my ankle was still achey from the accident. I decided to think practically. Bottom line. Where could I get this taken care of in the most economical way? When your body dumps you to the ground and you are in pain, it's no excuse to abandon your budget.

I debated. I called Kent. He wasn't in his office and didn't answer his cell phone. I called Stefanie - she's my next door neighbor and a nurse. She wasn't home. I called Patience- she's a little-bit-further-away neighbor and a nurse and (bonus) she's married to a doctor. Bingo. She was home. But, she didn't believe me.

"I think you're just trying to get out of walking today," she said. "If I come down there and find out that you've taped a grapefruit under your sock, I'm going to be ticked." Dr. Bill offered to look at it, but they both said I'd probably ought to get it X-rayed. "At our age," Patience said with a sinister laugh, "there's always more of a risk for a break." Great. Thanks. Now I hurt and felt old.

I decided to go for more sympathy while I considered my fate. Got hold of Kent. Stef came over when she got back. And, e-mailed everyone I needed to respond to that morning. The concensus was to get it X-rayed. I called the doctor who was going to cut out my bunions to see if he would see me. Amazingly, I could go in that afternoon.

By this time, my ankle had grown a tennis ball-sized lump on the side, but I could wiggle my toes. Kent was determined that I should elevate it (above my heart) and ice it down with frozen peas. I had yet to check off the first thing on my Monday list, but I humored him. He can be very persuasive.

So, instead of filling my flutterbye orders, catching up my blog, unpacking from my trip, answering my 165 e-mails, or cleaning the house for my upcoming book club, I lay on the couch all day trying not to freak out about how behind I was.

Well, you'd think after all that I'd have something to report, a cast to draw on, a bootie to lace up, at least a pill to pop. But, as it turned out, it's a sprain. A "class one" sprain. Not even a horrible, really, really awful sprain.

I don't care. It still hurts and I still want sympathy.