Happy Anniversary to me

And today, on strict instructions from my friend, I am wearing flats.....

Today is worth celebrating. I think. Today is worth worrying about. Today is...... the 12 month mark in recovery. From a broken ankle. Yes, today is something of an anniversary.

On 14 March 2006, on my way home from work, I lost my balance. And broke my right ankle. Doing something stupid. Like, getting off a bus. While sober. And while wearing platform shoes. But no one will stop me wearing those things. I've been doing it for years, and shall continue to do so.

But I digress. It was an old bus. One I call a clunker. Which should have been put off the road years ago. Lacking noticeably in stature, I am forced to make a choice - a long step down to the road, or a long step out to the footpath. I chose, as usual, the latter. Time has a funny way of taking .... well, its time ..... in situations like those. I even had enough time to tell myself - as if I hadn't already figured that part out - I was going to fall over. Really, how stupid do I think I am? Well, I guess the ankle tells that tale......

And I heard it break as I went over. How creepy is hearing your own body begin to malfunction? Not pleasant. My first concern was that no one would help me and I would have to try figure out a way to get help. There had recently been in the news a story of another woman in another suburb who, in a much more serious condition than I, had lain on the footpath for hours before someone stopped to help her.

Mind, I couldn't have chosen a better place to do it. If I had planned it in advance that is. Right outside the podiatrist's rooms. Yay for me. Aren't I clever???

At any rate, during the course of my recuperation, I found out just how much we rely on being whole and intact. Not having had to live with an injury of this type before, I was stunned to discover that I couldn't do basic things - like get into and out of the shower without help, prepare and carry my own meals/drinks and lots of other basic things.

Crutches are bloody hard work. I hated the things. 8 weeks in plaster, counting the backslab I had to wear for the first couple of weeks after surgery. 9 to 10 weeks on crutches, and I threw those away as soon as I could put weight on my ankle again. If I am ever stupid enough to do this again, it's wheelchair all the way.

And rehab! (Hey, I've been in rehab. I'm trendy!) 3 months of intensive physio including pilates mat classes and gym, each twice a week. I did manage to talk her out of giving me pool work though. Hate pools.

But I think I have done well. Considering I have 2 screws on the inside of my ankle, complimented by a plate with 7 or more pins on the outside. 8 months after the injury I was back wearing my platforms. Although I do make concessions, and these days I wear flats a lot more frequently. I actually had to buy a pair for while I was on crutches - I had none.

... and no, I don't set off the alarm at the airport ...