Happy Anniversary
I didn’t know what else to call yesterday. A year ago, I went into the mountains under my own power. I got in my car and drove there. I hiked up around the Fall River Road in Rocky Mountain National Park. I crossed the frozen Fall River several times, my boots keeping me steady. I took pictures, sat on a rock and watched the hawks, ate a tangerine, and just enjoyed the cold and the fresh snow. I’d done similar things in all kinds of weather over the last year and a half of living here. When I think of places to get away, Rocky Mountain National Park is it.
Done with my hike, I headed further uphill in my car to Many Parks Curve, intending to look at the Fern Lake Fire, which ad been burning for several months at this point. Winter was going to extinguish the fire, and I wanted to see it and take a few pictures. It was a Sunday. It wasn’t overly cold, in the upper 20’s, and clouds were coming and going. There were a lot of people in the park, since it was a holiday week and many people were off work and traveling. I got out of my car and took this picture before walking across the road to the walkway that looked out over the fire.
Next thing I knew, I was on my butt on very cold, wet pavement, my foot twisted at a completely unnatural angle. It was a minor fall. I set my boot in some slushy snow and it slid back and forth a bit, I lost my balance, and went down sideways onto my knees. My leg was broken in three places, and my ankle was dislocated. There was no pain, at first. That came later. The first thought in my head was “How the heck am I going to drive my car down the hill?”
That was the least of my worries, of course. And in my usual non-panic mode, I was able to calmly talk to the tourists around me, including four ladies from Tucson, Arizona, who were visiting the park for the first time in their lives. They called 911, they got blankets and mittens from my car, they stayed with me until the ambulance came. I could have screamed, and cried, but that wouldn’t have gotten me off the mountain. All of them kept asking me if I was okay, which of course I was not, but it wasn’t like I could change anything about what was going on. December 30th, 2012, is etched indelibly in my mind. Facts and details stick with me. There was the ambulance ride down the mountain to Estes Park, the second fall at the medical center in Estes Park (not a trauma center and not particularly adept at treating me for the short time I was there), a second, very long ambulance ride from Estes Park to Lafayette and a hospital with a trauma unit, then a painful few hours while they figured out what to do about my leg. I was later told this was one of the worst breaks they’d ever seen. It’s probably a good thing I didn’t know that at the time. My leg was set, and I was admitted overnight to see if the swelling would go down.
Most people know how determined I can be. One old boss referred to me as a “bulldog,” and he was right about that. Sometimes when I’m sure of something, I won’t give up. This was one of those times. I behaved myself overnight, keeping my feet propped up high, my head low, and prayed. I went in for surgery the next afternoon, roughly 24 hours after I’d had my fall, when the surgeon was pleased with the lack of swelling. Ten screws and a plate later, I was put back together, and sent home on New Year’s day. I spent New Year’s eve sleeping off the anesthetic from my surgery. The surgeon told me the next day that if I did what I was told, I would walk out of his office in six weeks. He only told me one thing: non-weight-bearing. No standing on my foot. Period. That was the only restriction.
Today, I am walking, biking, hiking, and pretty much doing my normal thing. The ankle gives me some trouble if I’m not careful, and it doesn’t twist the way it did before. It never will twist the way it did before. There are big numb places, from all the nerve damage. My leg was not set until nearly 8 hours after I broke it, which gave everything plenty of time to go into survival mode. The numbness from my instep to above my ankle bone will be with me for life. There is minor numbness on the right side of the ankle, and the entire foot can often be hypersensitive to touch. The hardware coupled with the regrowth of bone and tissue, not to mention the severe scarring from the fracture blister, have left my ankle misshapen, and that is permanent too. I cannot wear heels of any kind, and never will be able to again. Strappy sandals? Out of the question.
What I do have is mobility. I am walking. My injury could have left me with a permanent limp or worse. My surgeon, usually a hip and knee replacement guy, performed miracles on my break. He put everything back together, and it all works again. Yes, I did my part. I stayed off of it. I rested when I felt like I needed to. I ate so much calcium and protein that I was pooping seashells. I would have walked out of his office in my walking boot, but the dried skin on the bottom of my foot was like some weird helmet, and the pain was too intense when I would put weight on my boot. So I didn’t do that until I got home and had a chance to shower and soak that foot. Then yes, I was walking on it. He delivered on his promise, because delivered on mine.
I am so grateful to so many people. The four ladies from Tucson who stayed with me until the ambulance came, and made sure that my car was locked, and that my purse got onto the ambulance with me. The dozens and dozens of people that stopped to ask if I was okay and if they could do anything. The Ranger and three paramedics who helped stabilize me and get me down the mountain. The second ambulance crew that had to do the long-haul of getting me out of Estes Park and to Lafayette, 90 minutes of winding, curving road away. The Xray techs at Good Samaritan Hospital who went out of their way to get my xrays taken without having to move my foot or leg, including the one that actually stood up on my bed so he could press the plate down into the mattress so the xray would be good. The six or eight burly male nurses and orthopedists who set my leg that night (yes, I was knocked out for that, thank goodness). Julie, the overnight floor nurse who took such good care of me. Dr. Chiang, my surgeon, who put me back together. I’m also thankful that the Perfect Child’s boyfriend at the time could drive a stick, and they came up the mountain to get my car. He was six foot four, all legs, and he managed to fold himself into my car to drive it down the mountain. My husband’s boss at his new job was very understanding, so he could spend time with me those first few hours. And my Perfect Child, despite being sick, handled everything with grace and maturity, doing what needed to be done before she had her own melt-down.
My fall may not have been much of a lucky break, but being surrounded by competent, helpful people made all the difference. I was out of my cast on Valentine’s Day, and wore a boot for four weeks after that. The day I took my boot off I was on a bike and rode 5 miles. By Easter, I was digging in my garden, something I wasn’t sure I could do. I have not looked back, and I will continue to move forward. This year, my New Year’s will be spent at home with my family, toasting another good year, and hoping for another good year to come.
Ankles together. The right one will never look quite right, but it’s better than it was a year ago!
Inside ankle. The fracture blister took a long time to heal, weeks after my cast was off I still had scabs there. The area is completely numb so touching it is creepy and weird. The scar runs from the fracture blister down to below the ankle bone. There were 9 staples there.
Outside ankle. The plate is longer than the scar, which is only about 5 inches. The only numb place is right along the scar itself. There were 18 staples there. That small red dot was where the bone penetrated the skin, and it has a thicker scar, so sometimes I accidentally scratch it and end up with a scab.
