Wednesday, December 28, 2016, I had just returned to my parent’s home on the shore of Lake Superior around noon with my two boys, Oskar, 6, and William, 15-months, following a meet up with some friends for breakfast and sledding. We had just gotten to town from Minneapolis the day before for a short post-Christmas visit. Oskar had run ahead to the front door of the house, while I looked for his lost mitten in the car and got William out of his car seat. With 26 pounds of William in my arms, diaper bag around my shoulder and a random toddler toy in my hand, I made my way toward the house from the garage, with thoughts of nap time on my mind.
Slipping on the ice happened so fast, but before I knew it, I was down on the ground writhing in agony, the snapping sound of the lower part of my left leg reverberating in my head. William was on his butt at my side, crying, but thankfully unhurt. I clutched the toddler toy in my hand and banged it against the frozen ground. I knew I needed help and wasn’t going to be getting up on my own. I knew my leg was broken and I couldn’t easily be moved. I knew I would never forget the sound of my bones breaking.
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Spiral break of my left tibia and fibula. |
Between swearing up a blue streak and moaning, I screamed at Oskar to get grandma and grandpa. He struggled to open the door, it was stuck. I kept screaming,“Get grandma and grandpa, I need help. Get grandma and grandpa NOW!” I’m sure he was freaked out at the situation — crying William, swearing mommy. Eventually, he either got the door open or my parents heard the commotion. I was just grateful they were home.
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So yeah, I decided it was a good idea to live blog my broken leg.
It did serve as a pretty good distraction from the pain.
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One titanium rod and three screws later, I’m still getting use to my new reality. It’s been three weeks since my surgery, on my 42nd birthday no less, and I still feel like I should be able to just jump up and run to the kitchen to grab a snack, or pick-up a stray toy, or even change William’s diaper. I never thought I’d miss changing diapers. My new reality involves keeping my weight off my left leg and using a walker to get around. Frustration doesn’t even begin to describe the way I feel.
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My new hardware. Screwed for life. |
In a way it seems fitting that my new reality of not being able to walk comes in conjunction with the new reality of our country as we embark on the beginning of the Donald J. Trump administration. I find myself strangely grateful to have this distraction in my life so I’m not as apt to obsess over Trump. Between the initial shock and horror of the election results and the shit-show of watching Trump build his cabinet of deplorables, it’s so easy to get depressed and lose faith in humanity. However, the amount of support I’ve had since my accident from family, friends and complete strangers in particular has counteracted many of these feelings.
In particular, the fellow moms I’ve connected with through the Facebook group the Cussin’ and Drinking Mamas’ Society of Minnesota have been incredible. The group is fairly small, with just over 300 members. I’ve only met a few of the members in person, and yet after I shared the story of my unfortunate fall, they came to my rescue by organizing a Meal Train website. My family has been treated to a home cooked meal most every night for the past two weeks. And we’re talking good, hearty meals perfect for Minnesota in January. These ladies have gone all out, many throwing in bread, salad, dessert and a bottle of wine in addition to an entree. I’m afraid my family will want me to break my other leg to keep these meals coming. All this for somebody they’ve never even met. As I sit on my couch tonight and worry about the future of our country as we face four years of Trump, I am heartened to know that such kindness still abounds in our communities and I can’t wait to pay it forward when I’m back on my feet again.
