Break A Leg - Or Two

I want to begin this tale by embracing gratitude:  I was, thank goodness, not the only adult in the house when I fell.  And the other adult wasn't just any old adult, it was Libby, a friend and former neighbor from Fresno, now living in Madison, who was visiting for several days following a retreat she took in Delaware.  Libby, the level-headed, great with kids, hospital chaplain, cool in an emergency Libby.  

Libby and Asaka at the Creek

Little Kiyoko was at the bottom of the lower-level stairs, in her "wiggle pen," Libby was on the mid-floor, and Dwight and Asaka came in the door from running errands shortly after I began calling for help.

Finding myself at the bottom of the stairs, white-hot pain in my left ankle, I was grateful that the baby was safely contained and that I could hear help coming.

More gratitude:  no blood to upset the tender Asaka (who once blanched when he saw me get a flu shot); the presence of mind to simply sit and let the panic subside; for cell phones that let Libby and I sit together and make the calls to find out where to go for x-rays; for Dwight who pulled together all the food supplies for two young children who were about to spend the long afternoon in medical facilities.

I knew that the level of pain I was experiencing meant something bad, but I didn't want to speculate.  When Libby helped me up and I tried to put weight on my "good" leg but couldn't because of new found pain in that ankle as well, I could only sit back down and whisper "oh no, oh no, oh no."

X-ray of my Right Ankle

"Oh no", the very kind Urgent Care doctor said, rubbing my back after he looked at the x-ray of my right ankle. "Mrs. Plett, you have a fractured ankle, and now I'm afraid we'll need to take x-rays of the left one, the one that really hurts."  The result was not a surprise, and this time I got not only a back rub but a hug.  Two fractured ankles.
 

On to the Orthopedist for stabilization and decisions on treatment.  Good news:  no surgery needed as the bones are not displaced.  More good news:  I can be fitted with boot-casts and a walker, rather than plaster casts and a wheelchair.  Bad news:  mobility will be near zero for quite a while.  Life as I know it will be set aside for about 6 weeks or so.

See My Red Toenails?

That was Tuesday.  This is Friday morning and I am becoming familiar with my new normal which involves bed, oxycodone and not much else just yet.  Kiyoko has taken her morning nap next to me, which is sweetness itself, and Asaka comes down regularly to "share" my chocolate treats (gotta love that boy).

Libby has gone home, everyone is rearranging their lives to fill in the holes my absence creates, and I'm hoping for a less-fuzzy mind as I need fewer pain meds in the next couple of days.  There will be much time to go inward and ponder.  I'll begin with this from Rumi, taken from A Year With Rumi:  Daily Readings"  by Coleman Barks.  This was part of the reading from August 12, the day before my fall:


Every accident, and the essence of every being,
is a bud, a blanket
tucked into a cradle, a closed mouth.

All these buds will blossom.
In that moment you will know what your grief was,
and how the seed you planted has been miraculously
     growing.