For my 40th birthday, I went to the zoo…

…no, seriously, I did:

 

And then the next day, after I’d been walking around on it for three weeks, I found out that I have a severe stress fracture at the top of my tibia (the big bone in your shin that forms the lower part of your knee).  I’d just walked in the door from having an MRI, and the doctor called.  She said I needed to come right back to the hospital to get a cast, and I needed to keep all my weight off the leg for at least four to six weeks.  If it moves, or doesn’t heal right for some reason, I get to have a rod and maybe a plate put into my knee, which will most likely result in arthritis.  Nothing like the specter of arthritis to make one feel old.  I figured if I had to have a gigantic cast, I might as well choose hot pink (I’m smiling because the other option was to sob):

 

I am truly blessed that I have a mom who can and will drop everything to come live with me for several weeks to help out.  Especially since the cast is angled such that I am totally off-balance if I try to hop around without my crutches.  It makes it impossible to carry anything in my hands.  I can pour myself a Dr. Pepper, but I have to down it standing there at the counter, because I can’t carry it to the table.  I can change Keaton’s diaper as long as he doesn’t wiggle and throw me off-kilter.  Forget trying to carry something to or from the grill or drain a pot of pasta.  I can sit and fold the laundry, but I can’t get the dirties to the washer or the clean stuff into the drawers.  Going to the bathroom is a challenge, and I’ve so far been too scared to attempt a shower today.  I’ll be waiting till Karl gets home in case I fall while I’m in there.  But a bath is even a worse option.  Just trying to crutch my way around the house is quite a task with three little boys and all their toys scattered around.

 

HOWEVER.  I am going to try to remember that this is temporary.  All over post there are young men and women from the Warrior Transition Battalion who have lost limbs completely or had their bodies and lives altered in other ways that will affect them forever.  I will expect my friends and family to help me remember this and keep me cheerful during this challenge.  That’s the best thing you can do for me right now.  That and prayers.  Lots of them.  And keep complimenting my pedicure.  That’s nice, too. 

 

Sigh.

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