NICE START TO THE NEW YEAR

othing like starting the new year with a *pop*, unfortunately, that popping sound was my ankle. Anyone who has read my blog entries before will know by now what a klutz I am, that's 'klutz' with a capital “K”. I had spent the day keeping a doctor's appointment and my friend Jennica again made my life so much easier by watching my two girls so that I didn't have to drag them along and attempt to keep them in check while I waited for an opening in my doctor's schedule. Not to mention keeping me from having to answer the billion and one questions that #1 would ask about every little thing. 'What's in those jars? What are you doing to my mom? Is she sick? Why is she that color? Can I see your heart listening thing? Why does she have to wear that sheet? Why does she have to pee in that cup? HOW does she pee in that cup?'...you get the picture. So after having a relatively peaceful day, all things considered, I picked up the kids, and planned to make spaghetti for dinner. I hadn't eaten all day and was craving carbs. But the new sleigh was running on empty so I had to stop for gas and while I sat there waiting for the tank to fill (we have a full service station in our little town!!), I spied our favorite Chinese restaurant. Okay, having someone serve me hot, delicious, sauce covered food did sound more appealing than cooking. Besides, isn't eating out a good new years tradition? Obviously, I'm grasping at excuses to be served.

So as we are walking into the restaurant, a man in the group in front of us kindly held the door as I was carrying daughter #2. Daughter #1 is prancing on ahead and as she slips through the door, in true Queen of the Klutzes style, my right heel goes off the curb and buckles under me, the last thing I remember before crashing gracelessly to the ground was 'Mmmmmm, something smells especially good tonight!'...and then I am kissing the pavement and daughter #2 is screaming. I hang on to her, but at the expense of my left knee, my head, my shoulder. Ugh! Excruciating pain immediately assails me, mostly from my ankle. I've done this before you see and I know exactly what I have done as the adrenaline floods my system and nausea floods my stomach; I have torn the ligaments in my ankle...again. The kind folks that were holding the door see what has happened and rush over, gathering my now screaming two year old. Daughter #1 runs back out yelling “Mom!! Mom!!” And as so often happens when we venture out into public, chaos ensues. The nice people who own the restaurant run out to help; they bring hot tea, a whole pot of it. Another man appears from no where and asks if he should call the rescue squad...I think, or rather I try to, I am in so much pain and it is not abating that I shake my head yes, mostly because I haven't been able to assess daughter #2 yet and I fear that she has been hurt. Once the nausea passes, I am able to sit up and ask for my screaming child who it turns out is just scared. Who can blame her, poor baby, here she is being carried securely (or so she thinks) by her own Mama and suddenly she is on the ground and Mama is gasping and moaning and not comforting her. Oh the drama! Oh life's uncertainty! Oh those stupid curbs that I just can't seem to master! Regrettably, I have done it all before.

The first month I was home with daughter #1 I was carrying her into the Kroger's in Charlottesville, I was talking to her and telling her how much I loved her, and bam, a curb, geez, how hard can it be to step up onto a curb?! Down we go, that time my knee saved us, but daughter hit the back of her head and because it was her that was hurt and not me I sat there bawling like a lunatic. By the time the rescue squad got there a few minutes later she was laughing and flirting with everyone and was totally fine. Now what the heck kind of unfair karma is that?! There I was telling my new daughter how much I loved her and wham bam, we're on the ground, I felt like the worst mother alive, ouch! love hurts! Although I didn't drop her, I guess that's something. It's good to know in these situations, that as parents we will apparently and unconsciously sacrifice all available body parts in order to not drop the baby.

And then there was the time five years ago in February when I went out to get the mail and was looking around instead of where I was going and rolled my right ankle off the driveway and went down head first ten feet from the road. This is how I knew today what I had done to that same ankle, because that time 5 years ago I tore all the ligaments in it. I laid there for at least fifteen minutes as cars sped by, I was unable to move or even get to my knees. Finally, two guys in a pick up stopped and shouted out the window “Hey, are you alright?” My inner self begins to mumble 'Duh! Do I look alright?! Do you think I am just taking a little rest here in the middle of the road dressed in my PJs?” But I manage to just scream “NO!” They kindly hopped out and got me to my feet. These two must never have been boy scouts, because they don't seem to know that cross-handed-seat that you make with your arms for injured persons and pretty much drag me up my long driveway. Once in the house they ask if they can do anything else, I thank them and tell them no, that I will call my next door neighbors, they always know what to do and Marion is on the rescue squad. Unfortunately, as my ankle swelled to three times its size and I attempt to call them, it is alas in vain, the line continues to bleat a busy signal at me for 30 minutes. I find out later that unbeknownst to the adults in the house, one of the kids had taken the phone off the hook. Daughter #1 was up in her crib, she was 2 at the time and I could hear from the baby monitor that she was awake and wondering why Mama was not coming to get her. I had no choice but to call 911. Forty-five minutes go by, so I call again and ask if they are coming and I am told that the squad is taking someone else to Charlottesville (40 minutes away) and that they will be there as soon as possible. All I can think is that it is a good thing my injury isn't serious, mercy, I'd be dead. Once they arrive I insist that the first thing they do is go and get my baby for the love o' pigs! One of them does and brings her down to me, she takes one look at me and declares “Mama hurt!” Oh my yes, my entire foot has swollen to an unbelievable size and is turning the color of a fine red wine. Having seen the flashing lights and ambulance in my driveway, my wonderful neighbors rush over and take Lily back to their house. I am taken to the hospital in Charlottesville, x-rayed, packed in ice, handed crutches and told to stay off my feet for 3 weeks....uh, right. So having done this before I know the routine this time. I am advised to go to the hospital, but I decline, it's already been a long day, I own my own crutches and brace and the ambulance guy has given me really cool instant ice packs, I think I'm set, and I can see that my ankle isn't the color of red wine this time; it is swelling and turning purple in spots, but doesn't look as bad as that first time.

While I have been laying with my foot up in the ambulance, my girls are being fussed over by the other ambulance attendant, the kind people that rushed to help and all the employees of The Panda Garden; bless them. They are brought back to me in the ambulance and daughter #2 who has stopped her crying, starts to cry again once she spots me, poor baby, this has really upset her. Of course daughter #1 starts looking all around and asking questions 'What's in those jars? What are you doing to my mom? Is she sick? Why is she that color? Can I see your heart listening thing? Does she have to pee in a cup?' We have not foregone the billion and one questions, only postpone them.

Eventually, after a bit of paperwork, for which one of the questions is my age, I give my birth date. The attendant looks up sharply and says, “But the guy on the phone said you were 35.” Really? I suppose he was guessing, nice to know that when I am in agony I look younger than my many years, there was the sunshine I'd been waiting for. I am helped from the vehicle and since we are already there, I see no sense in going back home with all of us hungry. I can put my foot up just as well here as anywhere, so we go on in and eat. I'm fussed over with concern by all present, but honestly, I feel like a dope, how clumsy can one women be? Should I just expect to take a tumble every few weeks and get used to it? Should I start wearing protective gear? On the bright side, the pain that I went to the doctor's for this morning is nothing in comparison to my ankle, and has been virtually forgotten. And the chef at The Panda Garden treated us to hot sugared donuts at the end of our meal especially for us. That's me, always looking for the silver lining. Gratefully, we live only a mile from the restaurant and so I drove the short distance slowly and carefully. It was a bit of a struggle getting daughter #1 to get the critters feed and the dogs in and settled. She then had to bring me my crutches, but I knew exactly where they were and I am now so glad that I had decided to keep them around and not give them to the thrift store, I know myself too well. At least I have a good excuse for sitting here eating my Chinese donuts and watching a movie, now THAT is a good start to the new year!

KKW ©2008

UPDATE:

Having woken up several times in the night from the pain in my ankle and then trying to get up to use the bathroom and discovering that I couldn't bare weight on it at all without nearly passing out, I decided that I should take the advice of the ambulance attendant and get it x-rayed just in case, plus I couldn't find the brace from the last time and having it unprotected means any little thing that touches my ankle is agony. Again, my wonderful neighbors to the rescue, Theresa drove us all in the new sleigh to the “Quick Hospital” in Charlottesville. $100 co-pay?! Sheesh! X-rays were taken, I was given a brace, some pain meds and sent home to await the reading of the x-ray. They called a few hours later to say it was fractured, but they couldn't tell if it was from the last time or this time...huh? Regardless, the treatment was the same, so it didn't really matter; stay off of it for at least 3 weeks. Again I say, uh, right.

#1 says to me after observing me hobble around this morning, “But Mom, little sister falls all the time and she doesn't get hurt.” “Yes dear, but little sister is two, two year olds are made to bounce when they fall. Once you reach adulthood you are expected to have mastered walking, when an adult falls it is more like snap-crackle-pop. And indeed, my left knee, which took more of a bashing than I had originally thought, is the size of a softball, the color of grape jelly and makes a sound like crumpling plastic when ever I bend it – eeeeewwwwww. The scariest part is that being such a klutz, the use of crutches is especially dangerous, I have nearly fallen again several times...ironic. Trying to get to work should prove interesting.