November 22-25, 2011

This holiday was a bit fraught. Full of friends, food, and. . .

I thought at first a broken ankle.

The stry goes like this: On the 23rd, some friends, some family all gathered for a pre-Thanksgiving dinner at Heidi’s. I drank two glasses of champagne (probably more champagne or indeed wine than I have had since Jason’s wedding which was ten years ago. Not much of a drinker, obviously!) And I fell asleep on Heidi’s sofa. When I woke to hours later, I went straight home to bed.

The next morning as is my wont, I got up early, did my exercises, washed my hair, did some writing, some email and FaceBook. Had breakfast. Had the requisite Old Lady Round of Pills. Put on my coat and went next door to Heidi’s to rouse the troops.

Well, at least I started out there. Went down the ramp (closer than just going down the front steps). Didn’t notice the skim of ice on the wet leaves. My feet went out from under me and suddenly I was lying on my back, my right leg (the one with the full knee replacement) bent back under me.

I lay there for a minute, assessing. Nothing actually hurt, though once I freed my leg and stood up, I realized I was having trouble putting my full weight on my right foot.

Since I didn’t have my cel phone with me, and I didn’t dare try to go back up the slippery ramp, I limped/hobbled to the front of the house, managed to get up the four front steps (don;t ask me how) stumbled into the tv room, collapsed on the comfy chair where I normally write, took a deep breath, and called over to Heidi on the house phone.

When she answered, I said–my voice rather breathy but calm–“I fell and. . .”

“I will be right over,” she said.

Within a minute she was.

Gingerly, she took off my shoe and sock and we both kind of gasped. There was a tennis ball-sized lump protruding from my ankle.


“Maybe not,” she said.

She called Maddison to bring over her purse. Maddison was just as speedy, and she took a photo of my foot, saying that when her boyfriend, Brett, had broken his ankle in soccer, it had looked like that, which wasn’t comforting.

Between the two of them, they carried me down the stairs. (How had I gotten up them is still a mystery. Adrenaline is such a great drug!) and into the car. We were all laughing as we went, a combination of Yolen-Stemple gallows humor and grace under pressure.

Surprisingly, nothing hurt but my pride.

At the Northampton Cooley Dickinson hospital, I was taken in immediately (small town, good service!) and x-rayed. Within an hour, we had the results. No break, not even a fracture. Just a bad sprain. Rest. Ace bandage. A walking air cast when needed. Ice. Iburofin. Crutches.

Put a damper on Thanksgiving. But we all managed. And except for some back pain (minor) from sleeping on the sofa, and under arm pain from the crutches, I seem to be fine. And by the 26th , I was  (gingerly) walking.

I got a little revision on Centaur Field done. A lot of games of boggle. Watched Netflix and On Demand movies. Caught up on “Bones” and “Top Chef” among other tv series. Read a bunch of magazines. In other words, I was forced to lead a normal life.

I don’t like it!

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