Nine weeks ago, I literally had my legs cut out from under me when I broke my ankle in three places.
Imagine nearly 63 days of not being able to walk on two feet.
When you’re as independent as I am, something like this can be devastating.
And it was.
Each week, I’ve been updating you on my progress.
I have BIG news for you.
On Friday, I took my very first steps!
I’m not going to lie. It’s painful to watch. I don’t mind acknowledging that.
After being given a weekly schedule on how much weight to put down on my ankle, I somehow thought it would be easy.
I tried to maintain a brave face, but y’all, inside, I was disappointed. I cried after the Mr. turned off the camera.
It was very frustrating; it was also exhausting.
I could not make my foot remember how to take steps.
I was scared too, I’ll admit. It hurt to put weight on it.
We thought maybe I wasn’t ready, so I allowed myself a short pity party.
Then, I did what I do best.
I got up and found a better way (after finding a video online that explained that you are supposed to put the crutch on the healthy side…most people do it wrong).
Watching the above video was a little less painful but every bit as awkward. Why the heck couldn’t I stop leaning so far over?
The Mr., coordinated person that he is, tried to explain how to walk properly.
He even demonstrated.
I got mad.
He’s never broken his ankle before, so he didn’t get it.
He tried, though, and I had to give him props for that.
Still, I worked on it, because that’s just what I do.
After a solid night of sleep, I woke up to a foot that looked the best it had since November 13th…the day I broke it.
I put on my Superman knee high sock (no picture…sorry), my boot, and my “She believed she could and so she did” ankle sock for my left foot, and headed out on errands with the Mr.
We went to Sam’s Club, and he got the idea to have me push the buggy.
I was petrified. I didn’t think I could actually push something, but he insisted that it would be like using a big walker.
I took a couple of hesitant steps and discovered that, once again, he was right.
He’s probably gloating a little if he’s reading this.
Anyhoo, I also discovered that the going was s-l-o-w.
He rolled his eyes and announced that it would take us an hour to get through the store at the rate I was going.
It turned out that this was the BEST kind of physical therapy! It helped me figure out how to balance myself without making “flying” motions with my arms.
I was also putting all of my weight on the right foot, which was painful, I’ll admit, but not broken-ankle painful…just under-used painful. I can tell the difference, let me tell you.
I was exhausted when we got home and took a two-hour nap in the recliner.
After I got up, we ran out for dinner with me using two crutches.
There was something different, though.
The crutches felt super light. I felt really good when we got home and walked around a bit with one crutch.
The Mr. left to go to one room in the house, and I headed toward the bathroom. Before I did, I made my way to turn off the outside light, and I was feeling so good, that I decided to let go of the crutch.
I called the Mr. into where I was, and this is what he saw…
That emotion was as raw as it could be given everything I’d been through for two months.
When he turned off the camera, I bawled as he wrapped his arm around me.
He knew the struggle…had been there from the beginning.
I was in shock and awe…shock at how suddenly I could do it and awe at how amazing God has been.
Four weeks ago, when I got my boot, the doctor told me I’d be walking again in a month. I wouldn’t have given a plug nickel given how stiff and painful my leg was when it came out of the cast.
As I have reflected on each week’s progress, I have been amazed. Looking back has given me hope for the potential that each new week will bring.
When I was in the emergency room the night I broke my ankle, and the doctor told me I had a serious injury, all I could see was the long, dark journey ahead. A trimalleolar fracture blog post I’d found on Google while I’d waited for seven hours in that ER room had left me devastated and discouraged.
God has taught me to trust Him each step of the way. I’ve had no other choice.
Well, maybe that’s not true. I guess God does give us choice, doesn’t He? To me, though, there was no other course of action.
He allowed this into my life for reasons that I can see and reasons that I’m sure I’m not aware of.
I am still in full recovery mode, and I know my journey isn’t over. I have a lot of healing to do…physical therapy is going to be long and painful.
I know, though, that with my Great Physician in charge, and prayer warriors lifting me up, I’ll continue to improve, one step at a time…one week at a time.