Week 2 of Broken Ankle Recovery

Round up of Week 1: Well, I learned a lot last week. I learned that teenagers are in their own worlds, but they are also very generous. I learned that my husband has the patience of a Saint. I learned that it is a good idea to group items together for efficiency of portability. I learned that an optimistic spirit is definitely helpful during a period of injury. I learned that pain is subjective. It hurts more to get up from resting than to tackle stairs after not having rested all day.

Week two goals:

1. Try to get my shit done at work without the distraction of ME.

2. Rest ankle while at work

3. Use "walking" motion while walking on crutches, even though it is slower than lifting the leg.

Today I took the bus for the first time in a week. It was interesting. I was fine. I thought it would be a big deal. Walking from Kennedy Plaza to the office was a little tough, but nothing I can't handle. It's hot out.

Pain:

I am trying to use only ibuprofin today. The pain seems to have lessened somewhat. I still have pain when my foot is moved from side to side or during the "putting on a sock" motion, making it hard to dress. I have little pain while putting weight on it. Nights are still a challenge. The couch works better than the bed.

Okay, these are really boring posts, but I thought it would be good to track all of this.

A fidgeter's guide to broken ankle recovery

While out riding my mountain bike in Big River with Tom on Sunday, about 10 mles from the house, I did a stupid thing. Coming up a rise, I tried clipping out, failed, and fell on my ankle. Hoping it was merely a sprain, and not knowing exactly where we were, we hiked out of the woods (well, limped really) and coasted / walked the tote road up to route 3, where we headed home into a headwind up Big River Hill. At the top, thinking it would put us closer to home, I decided to shortcut us down Congdon Mill Road. Unfortunately the bridge is out at the bottom of the long hill there, and so we had to gingerly cross on the broken bridge with our bikes and out through the poison ivy. We stopped and soaked my foot in the stream. It was rather beautiful, actually. Actually the whole ride was great up to the point that I fell on my ankle.

As I was falling, I was thinking, this is not a good angle for my foot to be in. It felt like slow motion. My foot was bent out in the motion of clipping out away from the bike. As I landed, I heard and felt a *pop* and knew immediately that was not a good sound. I hollered ahead "something popped!" and howled in pain. I was on my butt holding my foot and taking my gloves off and trying not to cry from pain. Tom came back and immediately took my shoe and sock off and asked me what happened. I very quickly told him because my brain was already thinking ahead to what I was going to have to do. It was sort of like in Groundhog Day - the way he rushes through the scene because he knows what is going to happen already. Well, my brain was thinking in the same way - I knew I had to get up and move, that no one was coming to get me. That Tom couldn't carry me and two bikes out. I could hear him thinking "what does she want me to do?" and I weighed the different options. Option 1: Go on ahead and see if this trail comes out at the dirt road. Then come back. Option 2: Let me try to walk. Option 3: Call for help.

It was very hot and humid. I wiggled my toes. I could move my ankle. Well, I thought, that probably means it was just a sprain. "I heard it pop, though" I said to Tom, and he winced sympathetically. "What do you want to do?" he said. "Let me see if I can get up. I have to walk. I mean, there's nothing else I can do."

I tried to stand. It hurt.

I sat back down. "Go ahead and see how close the dirt road is."

He did and was back within five minutes. "We have about a mile of up and down trail before the road. Remember where that orange piece of plastic was? That's where this comes out."

I was finishing up tying a makeshift splint with my headband and some sticks. I got my sock and shoe back on over that and tried standing up again.

Be it that I was in shock, or just in this Groundhog day altered state, I got it in my stubborn head that we were going out. I could put weight on my foot if I did not turn it in. So I got a head start with Tom's hand, then limped cautiously, then with a little more confidence, and finally was able to limp along pretty well. Tom found me a walking stick and that helped. We got out to Burnt Sawmill Road (we hoped) which is a dirt trail running straight through the park. I suggested that he take off and see if it came out to route 3. Judging by the shadows the sun left, I figured if he went left he'd be heading North. Of course, I was wrong. It was 12:44 on June 20th, one of the longest days of the year. The shadows were still from the sun being in the East. So he headed out and I followed slowly, coasting carefully and sometimes getting off and walking (ouch!)

I did encounter two people who very helpfully told me that route three was behind me. I patiently waited for Tom at a cross roads and he finally came back after meeting with the same people. We turned around and headed up the road. We hit sand a couple of times and I had some painful moments, but all in all it went well and we got out and home within a couple of hours.

The past two days have been frustrating because I learned I cannot bike, swim or hike or anything for the next couple of months.

The novelty of this experience is wearing off.

Today is the second run in week 1 of 18 weeks of marathon training. The marathon is in Newport this Fall, October 17th. I am trying not to get too psyched up about it. I am trying to live in the moment. I am trying to be patient with myself and accept each phase of my training. I am trying to accept the fact that I am a fit person who is training for a marathon. Without laughing.

Although I have done some running since the half, I haven't done much. The focus has been on cycling - preparing for Tour de Cure - and work. And Zoë. And before you know it, Tour de Cure is done, Zoë is in the last week of Junior Year of High School, Tom and I have been married four years, and I am training for a marathon. Blink.

My father's dimentia progresses and my Mom claims frustration and disappointment daily. I know how hard it is on her. It is exasperating for me because I feel quite helpless.

So I train.

We're going to Montana. Well, I am. Tom can't go, he's in school. Zoë will be in pre-college. I love and am proud of them both and am actually looking forward to a week vacation where I can be ANDY again, and not be the cruise director / concerned wife (are you having a good time? Is my family driving you nuts?) or mom. I just get to be me. Daughter, sister. That's role enough for me. And each day I can wake in my own bed and meet the dawn and start the coffee and go out for a run and pretend I am in an alternate universe.

Not that this one is bad.

But it's fun to vacate. That's what vacation is all about.

And I will train.

Hopefully, by then I will believe I am an athlete, training for a marathon.