Broken.

I started a blog post while riding in the car from Florida back to Kevin's home in Virginia. Then, I was still caught in a state of limbo. My foot was propped up against the dashboard, wrapped in a flimsy, bright yellow layer of athletic wrap that seemed to do absolutely nothing. I had a bottle of very inadequate pain medicine. I had only slept an hour the previous night, lying awake in pain and unable to reach the advil.

Now, I miss that painful car ride. At least, while gritting my teeth in pain and staring out at the endless stretch of I-95, I had something to hold on to. I told myself (and Kevin told me) that it was probably nothing, despite the pain, only a little turn of the ankle or a sprain. Once I reached the Urgent Care in Virginia, they would put something on it. A better wrap. Hey, I told myself, you might be walking again with a splint, limping comically, that's the worst that could happen, and then we'll all go to Outback Steakhouse and have a good laugh about this.

I must have been delirious. And when the doctor came to tell me that it was just beginning, that I had definitely broken two bones and would not walk (let alone dance) for at least another month and a half, I broke down into tears. All those hours for RBIM, all that money raised for Dance Marathon. (I am still holding out hope that I'll be able to do Dance Marathon). The pain as the nurse took my x-ray.

"It's the right foot?"
"yeah, the right foot"
"You sure? I thought it was the left. This paper says it's the left."
My right foot was swollen to twice the size of my left and wrapped in a bright yellow bandage. It was the right foot, and no mistake.

It's so strange to only have the use of one foot. I have to carefully reconsider every move now, especially because I've never sprained or broken anything, not even in my years of dancing en pointe, and I have never used crutches. Polished hardwood stairs are my enemy. I took so many things for granted, as I realized at our first stop for gas on the way back. For the first time in twenty years, I had to use my hand to push down the damp, spotted flush lever, rather than effortlessly flicking up one pointed foot and avoiding the rampant germs.  Now everything, from sitting down to getting something out of my own suitcase, is a long journey and an arduous one.

When I first fell, I was trying to skim-board.

You get the idea.

 We were in Daytona Beach with a friend, and it looked easy enough. The idea was to drop the board while running so that it would glide along the shallow layer of water near the shore, then hop on and effortlessly slice through the water. When I dropped the board and attempted to jump onto it, my left foot made it. My right foot didn't. Instead, it caught underneath the board. While the board kept moving forward, so did my body, but my right foot was now caught underneath me as I fell, and my arch bent nearly in half before it twisted out from under me and I lay sprawled in the sand with a mouthful of spray.

It probably would have taken me over an hour to hop to our fourth floor hotel room.
That's why I realize that I have been blessed throughout this, in a way. I have the most loving boyfriend in the world, who has willingly carried me in his arms through gas stations, restaurants, hotel lobbies, and hospitals, even when he himself was exhausted. Without him, I would be completely lost.

More mobile times in Jamaica.

Thank you for all your good wishes! My next step is to see an orthopedic surgeon, since the urgent care doctor wasn't a specialist and couldn't really tell me anything definitive. It will be tough getting around, especially during hectic first week, so if you see me struggling around on campus, don't laugh :)