A few people asked me to write about my ankle chronicles. Writing is what I enjoy anyways, didn’t take much convincing. I have more time now or an illusion of more time. Appropriately re-arranged time commitments. Anyways.

Monday, August 2nd

It’s 8 PM and my two year old went to bed relatively fast which is always a lottery win regardless of how much I work him out at playground. Some nights are just yeesh. Today was not a playground day as I had asked my parents to babysit 1-3 while I got my vaccine and grocery shopped. I didn’t want to exhaust myself further bringing baby to the playground. It’s surprising he went to bed from us just hanging out and playing inside for five hours. I’m about to get ready to do some work, as after babying it is time for salacious work. I take half hour reprieve. Fifteen minutes in I impulsively decide my stupid bunny statue needs to go on the balcony beside my tropical plants. A small task I kept meaning to do. My body says to me, this is enough.

My left ankle buckles and I go down. Harder than I ever have. Doing any dance trick, falling on ice, tripping over baby toys. I crash down with a thud on my balcony in completion and I hear cracking. I begin wailing in frustration, panic, anger. I hear another crack and I knew something was broken. My ankle had buckled, given out a few times before just walking. Nothing interesting. Mundane routines with a spark. I catch myself when I trip to not bail, I fall gracefully or strong onto proper form. Not today.

I had gotten my second covid shot that same day, 8 hours earlier and I am even more glad now given the vulnerability I am now and I am not freaking leaving my place aside from doctor appointments.

I dragged myself on my right side sobbing hysterically, across my apartment to my kitchen. I got up on my right knee enough to open freezer, whacked out a bag of delicious dragonfruit melody to sacrifice.

8:30 PM

As I iced my left ankle I called 911. For a flash second I thought I was overreacting. But I haven’t ever called 911 to be honest. Others have for me each time some nonsense has happened. Like i’m in denial. I sob my information to the clerk and she asks if someone can watch my baby and to put any pets away for the paramedics. I just think “oh fuck, I have to go all the way across the apartment again to shove my dog into my bedroom? urgh”. I hung up and began grabbing diapers, fruit from the fridge, and goldfish crackers for the baby in case I had to bring him. I grabbed a plastic bag, my phone charger, more and more hysterical with the ice on my ankle and dragging myself on my side using my right arm and right leg. My fucking left arm hurts from my vaccine so I feel extra frustrated the whole left side hurts. I drag myself to my dog sleeping in her basket under my computer and begin dragging her now heavy 8lb butt into my bedroom. She poked her head in her blanket as I shoved the basket of dog into my bedroom. I closed the door and began groaning as to hide my porn notes and work binders from my parents. I decide the nearest possibility of a purple canvas box of nespresso pods makes sense and dump what I can reach into the box, dump some random boring vanilla paperwork on top, and shove the box under my desk where the dog originally was. I dragged myself to the baby’s room and he was asleep like an angel. He looked peaceful and I was relieved as I didn’t need him crying and screaming about me being hurt had he known. I dragged myself a foot away then laid down to wait and sob looking at my phone over and over and over.

8:43 PM

I call my mom in hysterics how I fell and broke my ankle. I am relieved she picked up as usually my parents are in bed by 8 PM. They live a five minute walk but they got to my place the same time as the paramedics shortly after 9 PM. I laid by the phone mumbling and crying why it felt like it was taking awhile.

All of this reminds me when I had knee bursitis on new year’s day 2016. I was so stoked I had moved back from Vancouver to the island and was living in a beautiful 1940s house with two close friends. They fell in love in that house, are married, live on same street as me in new apartment, and she just had left ankle surgery yesterday so aren’t we in sync! Sans the marriage. I had gone to bed, drunk, woke up 3 hours in mind numbing pain. I crawled down the cascade of wooden stairs sobbing to the living room for help from two other friends sleeping over from the party. They left without helping me, half drunk, and not understanding. They were freaked out they slept in late from their child being baby sat and left. I was angry and sad, I dragged myself to the freezer, got a bag of frozen blueberries and dragged back to my roommates bedroom. It was empty as he was in the other roommate’s room, his now wife. I laid in his bed, crying, icing my knee waiting for him to wake up. When he did, he helped me up and got me pain killers. I called my boyfriend at the time and he brought me to the hospital. He left me there and I found out I had knee bursitis, leaving with tiny crutches. I don’t remember who picked me up.

After 9 PM

Two really attractive paramedic guys arrive, I find it amusing one is older, I think late 40s and other early 30s. I would take both but stay longer with the older one, honestly. I remember when I fractured my left rib (aha this side sucks) at 18 I collapsed in a grocery store, xmas eve, as a cashier and this fucking turkey a customer was buying was the last straw. I had a handsome firefighter put me on oxygen and I tried to look pretty even in-between my sobbing. I never got coverage for that injury cause I had a small cough at the time. Thanks WCB. Back to current day, my older paramedic had tattoos on his fingers, his forearms, nicely pomaded salt and pepper hair. The younger one doesn’t look like he has tattoos, or if he does, is more discreet. Less liberal about their appearance. I hobble out with their help onto a stretcher and off we go. I was in the back with the older one, I knew he was a dad, it’s like an essence. He told me how his kid was grown up and how he just got a house. When he asked me how my pain was and I said 3-4 he said hmm 4-5 with jolts of 7-8? I replied, no, i’ve had a baby okay. He chuckled and said he was about to say. A dad gets it. Feeling your entire soul and body want to split in half and being in so much pain you barely can move or talk is not something I ever want to experience again. The need or wants of water or food is so beyond surviving the pain. Granted, I was induced. If you are a lady friend, and get induced, get the fucking epidural IMMEDIATELY. Fucking seriously. I recommend to not wait a few hours like me. Morphine does ZERO to help.

Anyways, I get passed from various clerks and nurses, waiting times of ennui and the olympics in the background. I remember being in the hospital once with the olympics once close to ten years ago. For this knife like pain I had in my side while at a club. My friend didn’t want to come but called me an ambulance and while I was squatting in pain outside waiting a malicious ex was there and pretending to be cordial. I was in too much agony and tears to be angry. Today’s “2020” olympics I am glad to not be facing. I like the olympics but not tied again to a hospital memory.

11:54 PM

I call my mom for a ride. I have had an x-ray by this point, met a doctor who said I broke my left ankle and was fitted an air cast boot by a nurse and given tiny crutches. She makes a comment how short they are. I wait for my parents by the very front entrance, I told the nurse my parents are old and want to be visible. She wheels me to where I want to be.

12:54 AM

Finally, my parents arrive. I seriously don’t know how they manage to make a ten minute ride an hour, but this is always how they are even when not bringing a baby and it drives me nuts. My mom calls me and I say…can you..please come…in? She does and asks me to come to car. I get annoyed and say, I need you mommy to come to me. I’m tired and she can’t figure out the fucking wheel chair, i’m getting frustrated and try using my crutches to go instead. I almost get stuck in-between the doors as she doesn’t help me and another patient behind me gasps out, I see her reflection in side of the doors try to catch me, despite further away. My mom doesn’t try to catch me. I catch my balance and don’t fall. I hop backwards onto the wheelchair and a nurse comes around to show my mom how easy the wheel chair is to use. He had been talking to a man who cruised in like bugs bunny on a casual jaunt, blood running down his eye and face. Blaise about being busted up. My mom finally wheels me to the car and I am ecstatic to see my baby and he is stoked to see me too. My dad helps take over, wheels me around carefully, and helps hold the door as I enter in to say hi to my beloved Mr. Baby.

I notice how my parents brought my baby shoes. I had no shoes. I had gone to the hospital with no shoes, nor had my parents brought me shoes. I had managed to stick my phone in my boobs under my jumpsuit and my keys in my pocket, no purse, no ID, nothing else as I had wanted. My older paramedic had chuckled when he realized what I had meant by, “I have my phone”, he had asked me, and he couldn’t figure out where I had put it until I casually took my phone out from my top in the ambulance ride to text a friend.

He exclaimed, “That’s what you meant by you had your phone!”

I replied, “Oh, yeah. Comes in handy.”