So this has been a painful week.  Rather literally.  On Sunday I felt like I needed to get away for a few hours.  We’d had some snow earlier in the week, I’d been working on a project that was eating my brain, and I’d not gone anywhere my entire Christmas break  So, I packed up some cookies, a Tupperware bowl of canned peaches, and a couple nectarines and headed up to Rocky Mountain National Park.  I had dressed appropriately for the day in my heavy jeans, two layers of sweat shirts, my boots, a hat, scarf and gloves.  I stopped first at Moraine Park and Fall River, which is completely frozen over this time of year.  You can hear the water rushing under the ice, it’s kind of eerie.  I climbed the path to the little bridge over the falls, climbed around the rocks, took some pictures, walked back across the frozen river (so I could “feel” the water underneath the ice), and back to my car.  Then I headed up Trail Ridge Road, the highest paved road in the country.  They close it this time of year at a certain point when it gets too snowy.  I drove to where I couldn’t go any further, to a place called Many Parks Curve.  This area has a huge parking lot and it was full of tourists doing the same thing I was – enjoying a sunny but very cold Colorado day.

I parked and walked across the asphalt road to the other side, where I stepped in a s small pile of slush with my right foot.  My boot slid forward about two inches, and I tried to correct, which made my foot slide backwards, which tossed me onto my right knee, at which point I knew I was in trouble.  My foot now dangled like a rag doll’s off the end of my leg, although there was very little pain.  Just that horrifying snap that I am so awfully familiar with.  I stretched my legs out and crossed my ankles to keep the bones in place, and didn’t say a word.

Four ladies had been walking in front of me, and just before I fell, I’d been laughing in my head at their ridiculous footwear.  One had on cowboy boots with long, pointy toes, another had Ugg-style boots on.  I was sure they were going to fall.  Not me with my safe boots.  Hah.

Those ladies, however, were my saving grace.  They heard/saw me fall, immediately came to my aid, and didn’t argue when I said I had broken my leg.  One of them had a cell phone with service (mine was in my car) and immediately called 911.  She carefully took my name, and I was able to tell her where on the road we were (she was not from Colorado), and patiently sat through being transferred multiple times until she could actually talk to someone.  And ambulance and rangers were dispatched, and now it was a matter of waiting.  Two of the ladies went to my car to get the quilt and extra sweat shirts I had there, and my purse, and I was able to call the Perfect Child and tell her what had happened so she and her boyfriend could at least drive up and get my car.  As they were entering the park gates, I was being taken through those same gates in the ambulance.

I made a stop at the Estes Park Medical Center, where they assessed me and took a few xrays, where it was immediately obvious that they couldn’t handle my trauma.  I waited for transport down the mountain via a second ambulance and crew, and ended up finally at Good Samaritan Hospital in Lafayette, which has a huge emergency room.  They began treatment quickly, taking off the hastily-places splint and taking more xrays, and by 11 p.m., my ankle had been minimally set and I was being admitted for the night pending surgery.

I broke my fibula in two places, one a near compound fracture, and broke the tip off the tibia, and dislocated the tibia.  For a simple fall, this had very complex results.  By the time they could set my ankle, it had been more than six hours since my break, and they were not confident that the “reduction” was going to work.  If it didn’t, I would have needed immediate surgery, with followup surgery later.  It did work, although there was intense swelling and fracture blisters (don’t look these up on google if you are squeamish).  I spent 14 hours laying on my back in my hospital room, my head down and my ankle up high, trying to reduce the swelling for the surgery.  It must have worked, as I went into surgery in good shape and came out in very little pain.  I have at least one plate and a dozen screws holding the whole thing together.  I’m padded and casted.

I have six weeks or more of healing in a cast in a non-weight-bearing status before I can start physical therapy. I will know more in a couple weeks when my stitches come out and I get a new, smaller cast.  I’m including pictures of my xrays below, which are not particularly “ew”-inducing but give you an idea of what happened inside there.    I am, at this point, feeling very very lucky, and have full faith that I will be healing up nicely.  It just will take some time.

I had amazing care from the first paramedics and rangers on the scene, who treated me with respect and understanding and got me in the ambulance and splinted and medicated for that harrowing trip down the mountain to Estes Park.  The four ladies who stayed with me, whose names I never ever got, were such a blessing.  They went to my car to get my quilts and extra sweat shirts, gave me their mittens when my gloves weren’t enough, and stayed with me until I was put in the ambulance.  I’m sure I messed up a pretty good day for them.  The paramedics who took me from Estes Park down to the trauma hospital were also awesome; that trip down a 34-mile winding mountain road isn’t fun when you are hale and hearty, much less when you are in pain and impaired.  The xray tech at Good Samaritan who hand-held all of the xray plates around my legs instead of leaving the room?  What a trooper…he was standing on the bed leaning down against a plate tucked against the inside of my ankle, while the other tech left the room to push the button.  The crew of 8 or more people that gathered to set my leg were kind and gentle and took time to make sure I wasn’t scared and that I understood what was happening.  My overnight nurses the first night when I couldn’t move were amazing, and my surgeon did the impossible.  I am so thankful for trained medical personnel who have more than training – they have an understanding of how to treat the people they work with,  I can’t remember all their names, and I wish I could so I could thank them directly.

Those who know me know how hard all this sitting around will be, and I’ll cover that in a later post.  For now, just know that I’m okay, I will heal, and I’m being well-cared for by my family.

This is what my ankle should look like:

From the side, I don’t look so bad.

Oh, now I see the problem…

My current view:

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