Filed under: Bloggidy Blog
I broke my ankle jumping on a trampoline on Sunday. And, no, I wasn’t drinking at the time (thank goodness). For exercising purposes, my friend Mary gave me one of those household size trampolines when I started chemo. Oh how I loved jumping on that thing. It just made me happy. Say, that reminds me–this guy who used to cut my hair, Jerry, had a mini-trampoline that he also loved and talked about frequently. He thought jumping on it made his hair grow. Jerry thought a lot of things which made him, in my opinion, a very lively conversationalist and an interesting barber. I wish he was still around to discuss hair growth vis a vie trampoline jumping because I’ve been having some surprise hair growth lately, too, and have been wondering why. On Sunday night we banished our trampoline to the back porch so now, if my hair stops growing, we will know that Jerry theory was right. I really want to let him know one way or the other. What’s more delicious than proving a long-thought crackpot theory? Not much.
But back to the story, we had to call an ambulance to scoop me up not because I was in a lot of pain but because I wasn’t in a lot of pain and I wanted to stay that way. I also thought I would throw up and crap my pants at the same time if I tried to get up. So when the paramedics, of which there were many, came into the house they saw a 43 year old bald woman laying on the floor sandwiched between a trampoline and a giant shoe chair. Behind me was a desk covered with prescription pill bottles. “Guess what happened?” I asked the first paramedic. “I didn’t expect to see this,” he said. He meant that when they got the call he thought someone slipped on the ice. I thought he was talking about the house, generally, which is also unexpected.
So my ankle bone (fibula, I think) is broken right across the ankle part. It does not need surgery but it will probably be in a cast for two months. I’m on crutches now, which sucks. You can’t carry anything around with you on crutches unless you can fit it in your mouth or bat it along the floor with your crutch, so I’ve been eating whatever I can purvey from kitchen to living room-like tins of smoked oysters and bottles of Gatorade. When I get rides to and fro the store is still open, by gum. So not much has changed. Except no more trampoline jumping. That’s probably the worst part.
11 Comments so far
Leave a comment