I have not been too consistent on the posting for the Blog Me MAYbe challenge. I missed yesterday’s post, in which I was to ask something about you, so I will do that today…better late than never (which is the story of my life). Today’s post is to tell you something about someone else, and I will try to do that too.
As you can imagine, broken bones have been on my mind a bit–this is my first one ever. I was at the doctor on Monday and was thrilled to be able to skip a cast and go to a boot, which I don’t have to wear if my leg is up. Yay! Sometimes, I almost feel whole and uninjured, until I spy my crutches or see the huge Steri-Strip covered scar on my ankle, outlined by the purple marker the doctor used during surgery. When I look at my leg, I am amazed at how little time it took for my skin to dry out and my muscle to lose all its tone. It doesn’t look like my leg at all.
My brother, Joe, understands, because a few years ago he was going through the same thing. He had come up from Tucson for my younger son’s birthday party. We had taken all the kids to a rock-climbing gym, something we had all done before. We were all having a blast–until Joe jumped. He had decided to free climb a wall, and when he came down, he jumped to the mat from about three feet up. It was one of those soft, couple-feet-thick mats, and his left ankle rolled when he landed on it. The arrival of the paramedics was kind of exciting for the kids, who, though they were worried about Uncle Joe, had never seen something like this up close and personal, and kids are curious. A couple hours later, Joe was back home at our now somewhat subdued birthday party. But, he had had painkillers and was making jokes in his happy place, and we all started having fun again.
But I think my brother’s recovery was much harder than mine is. First of all, he was living a couple hours away from all of us. He was living alone. He is in the Air Force, so he had a full-time job. I cannot imagine how hard it must have been for him, having to keep his leg elevated yet fend for himself. Of course, Joe had friends who looked in on him and helped some, but it’s not the same as having somebody around on a regular basis.
I think of Joe recovering from his broken ankle, and I realize yet again how lucky I am.
Even that first week I was injured, when my husband was away, I had my (now) teenage son, my mom, and my neighbor to help me out. I’ve been a work-at-home mom, so I’ve never worried about “going to work,” and recently I’ve been an unemployed work-at-home mom, so I don’t have to worry about work at all while I’m recovering. (I’m going to call that a good thing.) Best of all, my husband’s job became virtual in January, so he also works at home when he’s not traveling. I can’t imagine how dreary these days would be if he were gone every day from 6 a.m. to 4 p.m.
I am truly a lucky girl.
Now, I’d like to know about you–have you ever had a broken bone? What’s the story behind it?