She's Going Down....I Forgot To Yell Timber.....

I assume most anyone reading this is coming here via Facebook.  In which case you know a lot of what is posted on here.  I thought I would take some time to tell about why I am back to blogging, at least for a hot second.

Four weeks ago began as a normal day.  Except the kids were out of school and Mark had the day off work.  There was no rush to the day.  We all lazed about for the better part of the morning.  We had nothing on the calendar for the day and it was nice to just take our time.  I was finally ready to go ahead and shower at about one or so in the afternoon.  I went upstairs to gather my clothes and thought I should go ahead and start a load of laundry before I hopped in the shower.  I sorted about two loads into the basket.  Made the trip down the main staircase.  Made my way to the basement stairs and began my descent down the more narrow, more steep, and not quite fixed stairs.  I hit the third or so stair from the bottom and my foot caught. Pulled backwards and out from under me and down I went.  I knew in that moment something was broken.

I yelled up the stairs to Mark.  I was on the basement floor at this point and while my leg was facing up.....my right foot was laying off to the side.  I had heard that when you break something the pain can intense, so much so that you do not even feel anything.  Your body goes into a state of shock.  I am fairly certain that is what happened to me.  I felt like I might pass out.  Mark came down and took one look at my foot and said, "I think I am going to have to take you to the hospital." I agreed and asked for a bit of ice.

He let the kids know and came down to get me.  Luckily we have an outdoor entrance that goes right out to our driveway.  Mark basically carried me to that door and then helped me hop up the stairs to the car.  Off we went to the ER.

Once there, triage was fairly quick to get me seen.  I guess when your foot looks like this, they don't mess around.

A few xrays, and some pain meds later, I had managed to dislocate, compound fracture, and break my ankle in three places.  All because of the laundry.  

They wrapped up my ankle and shoved it back into place, also known as reducing it.  I was told I would need surgery and at that point it would be at least nine weeks before I would be driving again.

And thus began the journey I am currently on.  Figuring out how to get the kids to and from school. Who was going to take care of things around the house?  Did they really say nine weeks?

I had surgery about a week and a half after.  In which they discovered I had broken the inside bone in three places.  I had one plate, about nine screws, and some wires put in.  I try not to think about that.

I am currently sitting at week four.  Out of all casts and in a removable boot.  Still no weight bearing on the broken ankle.I go back in just about three weeks and I am told then we will try to see if I can put any weight down on my foot.

This process messes with your head.  The pain has been fine.  And even when it was not the greatest, I had medicine for it.  What they don't give you is anything to help with the emotional and mental aspect that goes along with an injury that lays you up in bed for the better part of a total of seven weeks.  

This seriously messes with you.  In one moment, I am upset about missing out on things.  In the next, I realize it's only a short amount of time and some people NEVER get to walk.  In one moment, I am ready to throw this stupid boot and just walk now.  In the next, the anxiety hits and the mere thought of even putting my foot down on the floor causes me to break out in a sweat.  In one moment, I hate that I am thinking about how I had big plans for the first Thanksgiving and Christmas in the new house and how those won't happen now.  In the next, I am thankful that I even have a house.  In one moment, I want to get up and finish working on this house.  In the next, I just sit and know it will take time.  It's a constant battle of the mind.  A constant back and forth.  

In four weeks, I have only been to Target once.  A miracle I have survived.  I leave mostly only for church and doctor's appointments because crutches are not a lot of fun.  And anywhere I go I have to be dropped at the door.  And depending find a wheelchair.  I have to make sure the path to get in some place is fairly clear and even.  And doesn't have stairs.  Leaving the house means hopping down the back stairs with Mark's help because it is the easiest way out.  No way out without going down some stairs.  Which means when I come home, I have to hop up them.  The frustration is real.  

Thankfully, Mark's mom has been here to help.  And the other days Mark can work from home.  And I have this pure burst of sunshine to keep me company for the better part of most days.  

I am most likely not even half way through this.  And I do not know that I will be up and going at the nine week mark.  My doctor has been amazing.  We have had family and friends bring food.  People have come and just sat with me.  Our small group has continued to bless us on Tuesday nights.  We have watched the Royals make it to the World Series.  I know there are lesson to be learned in this.  I know God didn't do it, but I know He did allow it.  I do not know what all of this means right now.  And I do not know what the future holds.  

Maybe that's the biggest lesson of all.  Thinking I ever knew what the next day would bring.