Another Hiccup

So maybe I don't make the best choices sometimes.

It's Sunday, St. Patrick's Day, and I want to wear a pair of green wedge platforms for the holiday. I took trial run with them Saturday night to the adult session of Stake Conference. They're not heels where I'm forced to try and balance on the soles of my feet only and they're only about a 2.5" platform, so I figure it's safe to proceed

We have about ten minutes before we have to leave Sunday morning. Everyone's ready or finishing their preparations, so I head back to the closet to grab my green platforms. Before I make it out of our bathroom, I've managed to roll my left ankle pretty severely and even cry out from the pain and the suddenness of being so off balance; but I'm determined to proceed.

I make it out to our living room where Dale, Miriam, Travis, my sister Tressie, her two daughters Karli and Kayla, and some other girls are waiting for us to leave. Before I've moved two steps from the edge of our couch, I roll my ankle twice more, with Dale having to reach out and catch me the last time.

Without missing a beat, he asks "What flats should I go get you?" and he kicks that pretty green platform right off my left foot.

Darn! I guess you shouldn't try to wear platform shoes when you can't feel your feet. If you can't walk or balance in regular shoes, any type of heel probably isn't the best decision.

We make it to Stake Conference and are ushered to the front so that Dale, Tressie, and I can sit together at the end of a row (while Miriam, Travis, and the rest of the girls get to sit in the back). Travis is carrying my bag, so it goes back with them without me realizing that I don't have it.

Almost as soon as I sit down, my foot starts throbbing. It's not so painful, but I can feel every heartbeat vibrating through it and there is a little pain associated with each beat.

"Dale, I think I need to go out and prop my foot up," I whisper to him. So a few minutes later, I'm hobbling on one good foot and dragging a large oxygen tank and its cart out the chapel doors to the nearest couch.

Tressie comes out a few seconds later and offers to drag a folding chair over as a place to prop up my foot and that's how we spend Stake Conference.

On Monday, my foot is a little swollen and a little bruised and I wonder how much damage I really did to it. Because I can't really feel it, is it possible I broke it and don't know?

Knowing my propensity for having multiple issues with my body, I head off to Urgent Care in Lindon.

"I need to have my left ankle x-rayed to ensure that I didn't break it," I inform the front desk staff and the attending nurse. I'm assured that I'm the next patient and that the doctor will be with me shortly.

After what seems like an hour and after I've had a chance to devour an entire magazine, I hobble out to find my sheet on the door and look at the time I was checked in. 11:08 a.m. It's now 12:06 p.m., so it has been an hour. I'm kind of surprised that my internal clock is so accurate.

When I ask the nurses how much longer, they agree it's been too long and they'll take me back for x-rays before the doctor sees me so he can look at them when he's finally finished with the other patient.

About ten minutes later, after x-rays, Dr. Garrett Smith comes in and says, "Yeah, well you did a good job. I'm pretty sure your ankle is broken. You'll need to be on crutches for at least two weeks."

Knowing what my body has been through and that chemo zaps calcium from bones, I automatically translate, "Okay for me, that means at least four weeks and probably more like six." Then I say, "Yeah, well as soon as you help me figure out how to hobble on crutches while dragging oxygen around, I'm all over your plan." Crutches are just not going to work.

During our conversation, I tell him that I can't really feel my feet due to the grade 3 or 4 peripheral neuropathy. Yet twice during our time together, he says "Just let pain be your guide. If it's hurts, don't walk on it" and "I can prescribe something for pain."

Pain? What pain? If I think about it hard, there might be some aching bone pain that might register about a 3 on the 1-10 usual pain scale. I'm certainly not taking anything (not even Ibuprofen) for a 3. And if I can walk on it as long as it doesn't hurt, I'm good to go now.

Nope, not without having to discuss whether we should cast it or put a walking boot on my left foot.

"What's the easiest to walk on?" I ask. Definitely the walking boot, so I'm fitted with a large, clunky, heavy black boot before managing to leave the office.

My life is a comedy of errors at this point. Hobbling around in a heavy walking boot and dragging oxygen is quite the balancing act, without bringing the numbness from the neuropathy into the equation. What else can I do at this point but just laugh? And laugh I do!

When one of my visiting teachers hears that I've broken my ankle, her first impression is to bring her family home from Disneyland so she can help me. Are you kidding? It's a great thought, but my ankle is just another silly part of my life right now. It's not like I need surgery or it's bad enough that I can't be mobile. It's just a laughable addition to my life at this point. The thought is comforting and amazing but definitely not needed!