How I Failed to Negotiate a Set of Steps

Or, “How I managed to get 4 weeks of paid vacation with just one missed step”

Either way you put it, it put me in a cast.

Ever since my first FaceBook post on Saturday that I was at the hospital, people have been wondering exactly what I did.

I broke my right foot.

In at least four places.

I sprained my left ankle.

Only one place to do that.

So, how could this happen?

Apparently, very easily.

Saturday, June something, 7:30 a.m.

I’m not exactly sure what today’s date is, let alone what the date was on Saturday.

I got up, made the Ranger some breakfast, and went down to the basement to give the Queen her breakfast and her insulin shot.

The Ranger and I had a full day planned, and, as usual, I was making lists in my head and the first thing on that list was yardwork.

We live in the Middle-of-Nowhere, TN, so it is best to do yard work first thing in the morning. We were even running late! One of our neighbors had already finished his lawn!

Doing yard work requires some finagling for us – we don’t have a shed or garage, so all of our mower, trimmer, etc. are kept in our basement.

And before you say something, none of our equipment is powered by gasoline. Everything is electric with either rechargeable batteries or electric cords.

Our basement is a walk up, with four steps to an interior door and another to get out an exterior door. Both doors have individual locks.

I figured that I would save myself some time and unlock the interior basement door so that I wouldn’t have to keep running in and out doors and up and down stairs to get doors unlocked and equipment outside.

I went up four steps and unlocked the basement door and started to back down the steps. Hold on folks, this is where the chain reaction starts…

Apparently, I didn’t count my steps up correctly and I completely missed at least one or two of the steps. This misstep caused my right foot to come down hard and at an angle across the edge of the cement bottom step. Feeling the pain, I hopped onto my left foot, and managed to do a turn that would have looked graceful if I were a ballerina but since I’m not looked more like someone who was trying to fall without causing more damage, and I went down screaming for the Ranger.

I have a lot of practice falling.

I once had a basketball coach who decided to teach us to fall without hurting ourselves, it was the one time I lettered in a sport.

The fact that I had never broken a bone has amazed my parents for years! Stitches, concussions, pulled muscles, crutches, bandages, patches, splints, boots, but never a broken bone. Until now.

The Ranger grabbed our Sweet Neighbor, who came running, at 7:35 am.

They decided that I was really hurt because I wasn’t laughing.

See, when you are as accident prone as I am, you tend to laugh at yourself a lot.

I wasn’t laughing.

I was screaming…gasping…crying…incoherent.

They called an ambulance.

I have decided that there are some lovely things in this world and Fentanyl on Saturday morning was a happy thing…

…at least for an hour at which time it was no longer happy.

Around 9:30 a.m. I was that person in the ER who is screaming and crying in a cubicle while everyone else is trying to figure out who is screaming and crying and what horrifying thing happened to them.

I, of course, felt totally within my rights to be screaming and crying. I wasn’t doing it on purpose, but when the X-ray technicians are moving your broken foot to various angles so they can try to see what is broken… yeah… it just happened.

Sorry for what I screamed while I was being X-rayed.

After they got done, I was given some more happy medication called dilaudid.

It was my friend… least for an hour at which time it was no longer my friend.

All my screaming must have paid off, because the nurse came back to us with a boot.

You know the kind…big…velcro…doesn’t match anything you own.

He stopped just short of putting it on my foot.

Thank-you, Sweet Baby Jesus!

He said they were going to wait for the orthopedist to come and look at it before putting the boot on and sending me home.

The fact that the orthopedist was coming in on a Saturday morning, would have had me a bit concerned if it weren’t for the dilaudid.

It did make the Ranger a bit concerned.

I am used to the world where they put a boot on your foot or your arm in a splint and send you home to make an appointment with the orthopedist.

In fact, the Ranger called the Sweet Neighbor who had stayed at our house with the Minions to let them know we would be home soon.

The orthopedist felt my foot up, and said they were going to do a CAT Scan. The X-ray had showed one break, but it wasn’t straight and he was going to have to manipulate it around to put it back and he wanted to make sure there would be no surprises.

I’m glad he did the CAT Scan.

He was glad he did the CAT Scan.

Apparently my Mama’s advice of, “If you are going to do anything, do your best!” had sunk in.

In addition to several smaller breaks, they had to realign the metatarsals for toes 2-4 and I broke some bone on the bottom of my foot that goes to my big toe.

Luckily, before they start this surgery, they knocked me out.

I woke up in a plaster cast.

I spent 2 days in the hospital…

…with a broken foot.

That was longer than I spent in the hospital after giving birth.

I have decided that I love the night nurses.

I like the daytime nurses too, but I really love the night nurses.

They apologize everytime they come in to check on you.

They bring you snacks at 3 a.m.

Mine brought me a toothbrush and toothpaste at midnight.

It was supposed to be just an overnight, but when the physical therapists tried me out on crutches…

No words here…

…just the massive shaking of heads.

With a sprained ankle and a broken foot, they decided that I needed a wheelchair for being in the house.

They don’t hand out wheelchairs on Sunday.

The orthopedist agreed with their assessment and kept me overnight again.

The nurse had me up again that evening…this time with a walker.

I can totally ROCK a walker!

I went home on Monday with my crutches to get into my house, a walker to get around the house, and happy pills to make sure that I sat on my butt most of the time.

I am supposed to “rest.”

I am really BAD at “resting.”

I am making lists.

Lists of projects to accomplish while I am “resting.”

So now you know what happened!

I would like to put a disclaimer on this post to please not judge my grammar and punctuation too harshly on this post. Painkillers don’t work well for proof reading.


4 thoughts on “How I Failed to Negotiate a Set of Steps

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