My two step misstep

Let me start off by saying I've never been the most sure footed. Combine that with three over active dogs, two cats and the occasional roaming chicken (yes, I have a chicken named Peep Peep) and that spells a recipe for disaster. But our story does not take place at my resident circus. Working out of my parent's house and childhood home has been a Godsend. Not only do I get to enjoy all the amenities of a home office but it is also conveniently located near the schools my kids attend. The morning started in the usual chaotic rush to leave our house on time. Dropping Trystan off at school first, then making our way to my parents for a bit before taking Liam to his school. Normally, my parents are gone during the day, working their jobs out of an actual office like real grown ups. (mindset pre-covid). Luckily, they happened to both be home that day.

The time had come to get Liam to school. With my keys and phone in hand, I headed towards the set of three stairs to meet Liam at the front door. Looking at my feet to ensure I went down the stairs safely, I noticed the rug at the bottom of the stairs was all caddywhompus. As an immediate reaction, my foot shot out to correct the rug before my brain could process the fact that I was only on the second step. Since, I was not prepared, my ankle rolled to the side making a cringing series of popping noises. In an attempt to catch my fall I tried to take a step with my other foot but was too off balanced and rolled the other ankle. Just like that, I went down like a ton of bricks. Shooting pain radiated from my ankles and up my shin. Holding my face in my hands on the floor, I laid there waiting for the pain to ebb. Liam's panic caused my mom to come flying around the corner. Seeing me on the floor at the bottom of the stairs; she held her breath, expecting to see a pool of blood seeping out from under my head and frantically asked if I was okay. Through gritted teeth and tensed muscles, I told her I rolled my ankle. Breathing a small sigh of relief, she offered to take Liam to school. While they were gone I remained on the floor building myself up in preparation to stand. I rolled onto my hands and knees, feeling the pain traveling through the nerves in my leg. Like an infant learning to walk, I crawled my way to the sofa and clutched the arm rest to pull myself up onto my feet. After a moment of stabilizing myself, I tested my ability to walk. First, flexing my foot- it hurt but seemed to be working okay. Then, I took a cautious step and the pain in my ankle flared to life once more. 

By this time, mom had arrived back home and woken up my dad to tell him what had happened. Being the dynamic duo they are, dad was now up and moving to take me to urgent care. Hobbling to the waiting room counter on my dad's cane from when he was hobbling around, I was offered a wheel chair which I immediately declined. No way was I going to be fussed over and rolled about in wheelchair. However, the walk to get x-rays was a long one and I gave in to being wheeled down the hall. Upon entering the x-ray room, a new realization grabbed my attention. My husband is deployed and the weather is colder.... when was the last time I shaved my hairy legs!? Horrified at the thought of revealing the fact that I could pass for being half yeti, I blurted preemptive apologies for having to bare witness to my hibernation fur pants. The x-ray technician giggled and assured me it was no big deal but I was still apprehensive about the entire situation. The real kicker was I didn't even have to roll my pants up. I could have easily kept my mouth shut and no one would have known. 

Once wheeled back into the exam room where my dad was waiting, I scrambled onto the cold, sterile and unwelcoming exam table with the annoying crinkly paper and awaited my fate. A short while later, the doctor walked in with my x-rays on her tablet as photographic evidence of my perfectly normal ankle bone. Poking and pressing on my angry swollen ankle asking me if it hurt was apparently necessary in determining a sprain. An ankle brace for support, a prescription for ibuprofen and a fashionable pair of crutches was what the doctor ordered. And so we left with me on crutches in all my hairy legged glory. By the second day I was over using both crutches. I couldn't do anything but gimp around; filling my pockets with things I couldn't carry in my hands. By the third day I had abandoned the attention grabbing crutches all together after walking by two other women with leg injuries at the kids soccer game. Unwilling to participate in a gaggle of gimps, I have been enduring the slow healing process without my walking accessories. My pride and stubbornness will be the death of me one day but not today Satan.