Hi, my name’s Hannah, and I just can’t seem to master that thing called walking.
I fall a lot.
Maybe it is a tall thing, that whole further from the center of gravity reality, but whatever the case, I fall, have always fallen, and will always fall. But usually it ends up with me just looking really stupid in front of my students/friends/random passerbys.
This time, it ended with my foot looking like part of Glimmer’s body after she was attacked by Tracker Jackers (thanks to Bethany, for the comparison). Here is a progression, because I am sure you are dying to see it. (Actually, I think higher of anyone reading this than to actually think that. I just want some more sympathy, as it is healed enough now that people no longer pity me.)
I was getting off the shuttle on campus, turned to thank the bus driver, missed the step, and ended up in a pile of tears, blood and swollen foot on the pavement.
Luckily, humanity still is capable of goodness so I was helped to a place where I could begin taking copious amounts of Advil. And because this is the East Coast, no one helped up the mess that was myself. Like the story of the Good Samaritan, only minus the Samaritan. I’m pretty sure one guy took a photo with his cell phone before making eye contact with me and walking away. I hobbled and crawled to my office building, where my co-workers (who are all that is kind and good in the world) took me for x-rays.
I would like to add here that I am not the type to suffer in silence. Nope. I was crying (the ugly cry, the type where you are huffing and puffing and snot gets in your mouth) for majority of the morning, which is probably why the nurse originally thought it was broken. Nope – just a loud sufferer. The result was one week on crutches (stay tuned for a blog ranting about the DC metro system, where none of the elevators EVER work), another week and a half in a brace, and a couple more weeks of no running or strenuous activity.
Still, I know that I am fortunate because my stupidity and reoccurring battle with gravity only caused a lot of inconvenience, rather than a broken ankle. For that I am blessed. I am also blessed to be loved by James, who gallantly showed up offering to make me anything I wanted for dinner — chicken noodle soup, grilled cheese, etc. Instead I feebly dictated that I wanted roasted eggplant salad with toasted almonds and hot goat cheese dressing. It was so good that I am considering having a relapse.