Spraining my ankle

When I was 12 or so, I volunteered as a helper in a toddler gymnastics class. I loved gymnastics and thought that teaching it could be super cool, so my coach let me help out with some of the younger kid classes.

I was demonstrating a straight jump off the balance beam to the toddlers when I over rotated my left ankle and landed on the side of my foot. Instead of showing the toddlers how easy a straight jump was, I probably scared them, especially when I cried out loud and didn't get up.

That was the beginning of my odyssey with left ankle sprains. I sprained it running by tripping on the edge of the sidewalk, falling down the front steps of my house, playing basketball, slipping on a wet floor at school, marching backwards in band and stepping on someone else's foot, tripping on nothing while running, and walking and tripping. You could say I wasn't exactly graceful as a teenager.

It was bad enough that an acquaintance of the same height, similar hair color and build told me one day that someone had yelled my name at her and "Where's your crutches?" when she was not facing them. I was on crutches more than I wasn't in middle school. It was the end of my gymnastics career, though I was reluctant to admit it. So I taped my ankle and ran distance track.

Every time you re-sprain an ankle you have to stay off of it longer to let it heal. I was having to stay on crutches for weeks at a time. I was very skilled with crutches, and could out hop people who were walking quickly. I had calluses and great arm strength from using crutches so much. It was bad enough that I did physical therapy to strengthen my ankle.

I did a brief stint as a cheerleader in middle school thinking it would be a fun way to use my gymnastics skills. One football game later I realized 2 things. First, I found cheerleading to be objectifying and embarrassing. Also, being perky for long periods of time is not something I can do well.

I tell you this because Saturday while organizing and working on my spring cleaning, I stepped funky on my ankle and twisted it badly again. For the first time in over 10 years.

After I had recovered from the initial shock I had Dinoguy get me some ice and call Fixitman to come home. Then I lay down on the bed and rested. I quickly became frustrated that I couldn't walk in trying to find an ankle brace. I realized my big project was going to have to be delayed and I was irritated. But I rested my ankle. Fixitman called a friend to get me some crutches to use.

However by Sunday night I was tired of the crutches. They hurt my hands. They were impairing my ability to do anything. I couldn't carry Munchkin and walk, I couldn't really carry anything. My house was getting messy and there was no way I was going to be on crutches for the job interview I had Monday, so I started limping around the house instead.

Monday I put on my heels and smiled thru the pain for the interview. It went well I think, no decisions for another week, thanks for asking. I should have gotten back on the crutches afterwards but I didn't. It was much more convenient to walk around. I could get things done! I could cook dinner and do laundry - you know, the things that I had to get done!

So today, as I took Aleve to cover the pain and hobble around my house while working on my cleaning project from Saturday, I thought of my mom. See, she sprained her ankle on a run with me once in high school and never really rested it, and it was hurting her for weeks. In my sage adolescent wisdom, I lectured her about how she should have taken care of it to begin with and then she'd be fine by now. She sighed and agreed.

Mom, I understand now.

Accidents happen

Shortly after Dinoguy was born, I remember clearly having the thought that now I couldn't protect him from getting hurt, now that he was no longer connected to me and safe inside me. It was a terrifying thought, as I am some what of a klutz; realizing that I am not strong enough to protect my son from all physical pain.

The past month of May brought a pretty bad fall, when walking the dog with Fixitman. Dinoguy tripped and started to fall, Sarge kept going, (at a pretty fast speed, they usually run together) and Dinoguy hit the ground pretty hard. Fixitman called me on the cell phone and told me to come get them right away with ice, as Dinoguy was growing a pretty good sized egg on his head. I must have checked him for concussion signs every 20 minutes for a few hours.

Of course, he has had other bumps, bruises, falls, infections, illnesses and more. Every time he bumps his head hard, or gets a cut, all sorts of awful stories go thru my mind, thanks to Reader's Digest, the newspaper, magazines, the internet, etc. So I check him over carefully, and care for the injury as best I can, praying that I don't miss any signs of more serious injury.

We have had our first bike fall about a week ago - that one was scary to me, but the neighbors came out and brought ice and popcicles and the popcicles seemed to be the therapy that worked best. Thank goodness.

This past weekend brought one of my personal nightmares to life. An injury that requires a hospital visit; it's that bad. It happened to my younger son - Trainboy. It involved Trainboy's hand and was a hatchet wound that had me hysterically calling people asking where the nearest hospital was and trying to comfort the scared brother at the same time while Fixitman attended to the blood. (I do not handle blood well. If there is only a little, I can suck it up, but large amounts of blood cause me to get rather sick.)

Thankfully the wound did not cut any arteries, bones, ligaments or tendons. He was still able to move all his fingers and the x-ray came back clean. The doctor used 8 stitches to close it up - something I was not able to watch him do as it involved them wrapping him up, a large man leaning on him to prevent him from moving and several nurses assisting in keeping him still. Fixitman stayed near his head and tried to provide the physical comfort that he needed and the mental distraction that helped somewhat. Both a nurse and Fixitman advised me not to be nearby, and my weak stomach for blood agreed, so I stood a bit off and listened to my baby cry and cried along with him.

The photo of the stitches was taken 24 hours after they were done, you can see it started healing up quickly, he is doing great. Fixitman carefully cleans the wound and changes the bandage twice a day while Dinoguy & I distract him from looking at it. As long as he can't see the stitches, Trainboy seems to be alright with his bandaged hand. But the first cleansing of the wound was hard, as he remembered getting the stitches.

Tonight Dinoguy fell off his scooter and got some scrapes. We are feeling very human and vulnerable around here. I am feeling very blessed that things were not worse with Trainboys' hand. It has taken me 3 days to be able to write about it, it isn't easy to remember and share our experiences with pain.