Graceful

Yesterday, at about noon, as I was walking down the stairs, I somehow fell off the last step.  As I went down--on the baby wipes box so conveniently placed at the bottom of the stairs--I heard a series of pops come from my left ankle and foot.  The pain came a moment later as I crumpled on the floor.

Once the blindingly sharp pain subsided, I could only think about how I had sent the two little boys out to get in the car, while I fetched Yum Yum from her nap.  We needed to get to the school to talk to Em and her teacher (emotions are so hard when you're only six).  I didn't have time for pain or a twisted ankle!

So I soldiered on, hobbling awkwardly, feeling like a fool.  My foot hurt, but I ignored it in favor of dealing with my sweet daughter, helping her write an apology, getting her back in her class.  Hauling Yum Yum around, with Gee and Hebs tagging behind, I limped back out to the car.

I noticed my shoe began to feel a little tight.  When I took it off to inspect my foot, there was a bit of swelling, but no noticeable bruises.  I thought this meant it was just a little wrenched.

Well.

The swelling arrived last night, and the pain was pretty bad.  I finally fell asleep at 1am, with the help of some drugs.  When I woke up, my foot wasn't hurting anymore!  Hooray!  Then I got out of bed and put weight on it.  Oh, well.

It's still a little swollen--okay, a lot swollen, you can't really discern an ankle in there--but I can get around okay on it.  I've got it wrapped, with ice on and off.   I'm not babying it, but I'm trying not to overdo.  (Heh, heh.)

But the funniest thing of all?  It's how stupid I feel.  I fell off ONE STEP.  I wasn't half-asleep, trying to soothe a crying child (as what happened to my sister Telima a few months ago).  I wasn't saving a three-legged kitten from a ravenous eagle attack.  I wasn't even hiking a mountain!

Sigh.  My middle name isn't Grace, but perhaps it should be.