| Pondering the healing processes, of which I am thankful. |
I flew out of Traverse City this last Saturday afternoon. An hour or so before liftoff Dad and I were loading up the family rig getting ready to head into town. In an excrutiating moment of awkwardness I came out of the door, down a step and sort of misjudged the edge of the deck…rolling my left ankle inward.
I remember thinking two things:
01. What is that crunching sound?
02. Aw fuck, I broke my ankle.
Suddenly I saw myself in an emergency room getting fitted for a cast. Then I worried how I would be able to navigate the short layover in Chigago O’Hare. How would I be able to get to my connection in time? I was in a state of panic.
Funny how a little error can make yer world stop so suddenly.
Dad was wide-eyed: “Can you stand on it?” he inquired. I tried and was overcome with a nauseous buzz. I hobbled in and elevated the violated limb. Those moments were scary. Now what? After about 20 minutes I began slowly moving the tightened ankle. As sore as it was, nothing felt to “wrong.” I was able to limb around and eventually made it into the car and off to the airport.
All week long, every step has been a reminder of the healing process. Each day gets a little better. Each stairstep is a challenge. I’m haunted by that little moment off that step. Little by little the limb feels stronger. The human machine is amazing.
