...Pray they are lulu. (JK. Not really.)
Today I was planning to write a post about bouncing back from injury. I haven't really shared much about the past few months on here - bulging a disc on on our honeymoon and all that entailed - and I found in the weeks that followed that talking to others about my experience really helped. Guys, talking is everything. The driving force that started my blog in the first place all those years ago - other than my desperation for a creative outlet - stemmed from my desire to connect with, and hopefully relate to, others.
Anyway, I've been meaning to put together this post for awhile now in hopes it helps at least one of you. I wanted to tell you how the experience affected me, how I retaliated, and that I came out of it and into a routine that had me feeling stronger than ever. Well... until yesterday, that is. Because - and how's this for irony?
I broke my ankle last night.
I was descending the stairs after my last client and all of the sudden, I slipped on something and my feet went out from under me. I fell and think I probably blacked out for a second because it seemed like all of these people came out of nowhere as I got myself back up. I was so confused and kept shooing away all of these kind folks trying to help me. My instinct is always to put on a "No, no, I'm fine!" act no matter what - and I really thought I was. I'm very stubborn and I hate appearing weak. I later learned there was water on the stairs and someone was on their way to clean it up - but I guess I got there before they did. How's that for bad timing?
This is my first broken bone in almost 32 years of life. And if I'm being honest with you - which I always am - I'm wavering between, "Thank God this isn't worse," and "WHY???" Pity party for one, right here. I feel like I only JUST made a "comeback" of sorts from my back injury. To have another setback, now? To have all that progress go right down the toilet? I'm frustrated. I'm gobsmacked. I'm MAD.
Ben and I were in a legit state of shock last night in the ER when the doctor came in and said, "Bad news; it's broken." When she said, "You can't run for the next six weeks," he and I locked eyes and I started to sob. I'm not even a "runner" but good God. No one wants to hear that. I have to say that almost everyone we came in contact with in the ER was wonderful. (And they all ask, "Have you been here before?" Like, "Hey cutie, come here often?" Um, no. First timer.) The doctor who diagnosed me was my least favorite because she was very manic, vague and offered us no level of comfort, but I've since come to understand this is typical of the ER. Understandably so. I would've appreciated a kinder bedside manner, but I get it. Not her song and dance.
I guess the one upside here is that I'm forced to sit still for a bit and will have more time to write as a result. I've been wanting to post more but I get so easily overwhelmed with my schedule. My dad called me early this morning and said, "I hope you're blogging." He gets it. Talking (writing) about it always helps!
In general, I've always counted myself pretty lucky health-wise. Yes, I've battled clinical depression and have hit bumps in the road, as we all have. But I've always felt my immune system is pretty good to me. This theory was magnified about 4 years ago, when I got the flu in early 2013. It was the first time I got really sick since turning my life around. No one likes being sick, of course, but in the past few years I've learned that feeling weak terrifies me in a way it never did before I really took control of my health. Being sick SCARES me!
To make a long story long, I still owe you all my original story of how I "bounced back"... and now I'll have another version of it, too. Right now I'm laid up on our couch and so frustrated I could scream... but I will figure this out. I will turn lemons into lemonade. And I will redefine "stronger than ever." Again.