On October 4, 2013, I fell. I fell hard.
Running down a ramp that runs out from under wide over-hanging eaves at my parents on a wet soggy, autumn day, wearing flip flops, with car keys in one hand and a pair of my nephew's shoes in the other; I fell.
I fell so hard, I had never hit the ground so hard in all my life, that I lay there a moment not moving a muscle. I fell so hard I wondering for more than that moment whether I truly may have broken my neck. There was no "snap" or audible crack. I didn't feel any pain at all. First, I cautiously wiggled my fingers and without moving my head could see them moving, then my toes, and same result.
I realized right away that I had wrenched my left leg. On the way down, my knee caught between spindles on the rails. I gingerly pulled myself up, without any sharp pains, and stood hanging onto the railing for a moment.
Thinking, I had bruised nothing more than my knee and self-esteem, I took a step...
And realized my whole world had indeed shattered.
It had shattered along with a chip of bone on the anterior of my acetabulum. That's the big load-bearing joint that the femur fits into forming a ball and cup socket allowing a most incredible range of motion through three planes while bearing weight.
The next week passed in a blur, with lots of crying on my part. I guess I do not possess that stern upper lip, I thought I had. Fortunately, my Handsome Son and his good-natured, kind girlfriend were home from college that weekend. The result of my fracture was frantic activity and in-the-moment decision making.
As a result, I closed up my house and garden. I moved into my brother's house while I would be recovering. As those first couple weeks passed in a fog of sleep, pain, sleep, very bad TV, and more sleep, I started to understand how long the recovery for this type of injury would be. Statistically, the outcomes are not good.
The odds are not ever in your favor...
Yesterday, I ventured outside for the first time since the beginning of this ordeal. The seasons have changed. It is a new year. I drove a car, with my son along as my able-bodied companion. I drove pass my house and garden-- TWICE. I miss my house and its cute yard.
The 'Red Jade' crab apple is having a truly magnificent year. It is LOADED with half-inch bright red apples. Its form denuded of leaves is truly remarkable, gorgeous, perfect.
I am not yet walking with out the use of a walker, but excuse the pun, I am making strides everyday. This morning, I was able to sit in a butterfly position and stretch. I went down and up a flight of three steps, with no pain. If there had been a handrail on both sides I could have done it without support of the two fine men in my life. It went surprisingly better than my brother and son thought it would.
It is progress. Discernible progress.
I have been depressed. I have been crabby. But by spring, I may be walking unaided, and that my friends will be truly remarkable, gorgeous, and perfect as well.
The green islands of the big city - Perhaps heading to Pelham Bay Park, on the Bronx side of the Long Island Sound on the first warm weather holiday weekend of the year was not the brightes...
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