It is 9am on a Friday and I’m sitting on the exam table at an orthopedic office. The doctor comes in, flanked by another doctor and a nurse, and tells me he has studied the x-rays of my foot. He confirms the fracture and tells me he recommends surgery.
It has now been 9 days since my fall. Nine days since I slipped on ice in a driveway of a home where I was tasked to check on dogs left outside in the winter cold. Nine days since I had strangers assist me to my animal control vehicle, and high on adrenalin proceeded to drive myself to Med1 with a broken foot, where I then immediately realized my foot was useless. I was sent home after some basic evaluations and told I would need to be referred to the orthopedic doctor. Nine days later I finally found myself in that office.
The surgery was set for the following Tuesday. I had never been in a position of any kind of major medical event, much less surgery. I had managed to secure a knee scooter from a friend, which provided relief from the crutches that were very uncomfortable by day two. I had a boot on my foot all day and night and my husband assisted me from showering to driving to appointments. Now I was laying in this surgery bed, ready to go in and allow them to cut my ankle open to fix the bone. Not going to lie, I was nervous, but also so ready to finally get this fixed and healing. All went well and I woke up with a very uncomfortable cast on my right foot that day. The next two weeks proved to be hell. The cast was heavy, itchy, and had to be shoved into a plastic bag every time I needed to shower. Showering consisted of sitting on a plastic stool while hot water rained down on my pathetic self. The staples were finally removed, and much to my disappointment, another bandage was applied and told to keep that dry for another week. So back to the garbage bag around the foot in the shower. Eventually that was removed, and I could go back to just wearing a boot.
Follow up day. This was the day I prayed I would get news of being able to put weight on the foot again. You see, I had scheduled a trip to Namibia several months before the foot saga began, and I had no intention of canceling. So everything was depending on the doctor telling me that I would be able to start putting weight on this foot again so travel could be achieved.
Two days later I was sitting on a plane to Namibia. I utilized wheelchair services at every airport, which were a life saver. I have a completely new found empathy for all people with disabilities trying to navigate life.
To say that I was apprehensive and nervous about this long trip is an understatement. I have traveled many times to Namibia as an able-bodied person. This was different. And once there I realized that, although I was allowed to put weight on my foot now, my foot was essentially useless. As was my calf muscle, which had atrophied and was half the size of my other leg. But I signed up for this, and if I were still in in Michigan I would just be waddling around my own home cursing this foot. So I might as well be waddling in another country the next two weeks, in the company of my sister and parents whom I have missed so much.
We had booked a weeklong camping trip through the desert. Taking along fuel, water and food. Rough camping. Something that would have been against all advisement by a doctor, but here I was doing it because I decided I won’t let a foot ruin Namibia for me. To say I had challenges is an understatement. But when that trip ended, I felt like I could do anything.
When I returned to the US I started physical therapy right away. Coincidentally my therapist is from South Africa. Small world. I got right back to living in Michigan, adjusting to the time zone and the shit weather all in one week. I started driving again, although clumsy with lifting a whole leg instead of just the foot, it gave me freedom I hadn’t had since the day of the fall. The foot is still a work in progress, and since it limits me so much, I am still prescribed off work at this time. I am blessed to have an employer who accommodates this and is understanding about the progress.
This extended break off from work is the strangest feeling. I have never been off work like this in my life. I have never had any medical issues keeping me from working. I have never taken maternity leave. I never even got sick with COVID and took time off. I had powered through all these years, until now at 41 years of age, I fell on ice and my world suddenly changed. Everything went into slow motion. It has forced me to sit still, something that I don’t do well. It took away so much of the autonomy and freedom I have always taken for granted.
Mentally I went through an emotional rollercoaster. Sitting alone at home, day after day, watching snow fall outside and not being able to leave the house without assistance left me isolated. I felt guilt for not being at work, knowing how busy it gets there. I felt irritated not being able to get into the car and drive to the grocery store by myself. I felt helpless while sitting on a stool in the shower to wash and scooting up and down stairs on my butt. I felt unmotivated, spending some days in the same pajamas I slept in because I have no contact with the outside world anyway.
I had a few friends stop by for a visit, the highlight of a whole week sometimes. I watched Netflix, and then felt lazy because I didn’t utilize that time to read a book or teach my dog new tricks. I attempted to clean the house, dragging the vacuum behind my scooter and eventually just giving up and sitting on the floor to use it. Having so much time on my hands suddenly felt overwhelming. I felt as though I had to make some big project happen, or accomplish something I typically wouldn’t have the time for otherwise. But the daily activities, like getting out of bed, washed, dressed, scooting myself downstairs and slowly making my way around the kitchen to make something to eat took up so much of my day that I didn’t really have much spare time, or energy left. So I did not learn that new language, or write a novel. I simply slowed down and let life happen.
Not driving in daily traffic, or dealing with the public in a work capacity, has done wonders for my anger management. During the week of camping in the Namib Desert, we did not have cell phone service. There was zero text messages and zero social media. I enjoyed Namibia the way I did as a child living there. Without distraction or outside stresses. That week of being completely unplugged has calmed my insides, a feeling I try to hold on to now that I’m back in the digital world. It’s so easy to get caught up in the daily stresses and happenings around us which then dictate our mood. My job very often bled into my personal life, affecting my mood or my demeanor towards people and situations. Maybe it was meant to be that I slipped that day and my life drastically changed to show me a different version of myself. Or maybe it was just happenstance and there is no reason and I had to learn to just go along with something I could not control. Either way, this break gave me a break.
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