One Gimp, Two Gimp 1

Gotta watch that last step, Mom.

It happened two weeks after our cross country move. I sauntered down the stairs in our new place and stopped on the last step to give my hubby, Gary, a hug. Shortly after, we parted to go in different directions.

I turned to go right and . . . SCREAM!

My husband turned to find me on the floor clinging to my left ankle.

I yelled at the top of my lungs, “Get ice. I think I broke my ankle.”

Somehow, instead of stepping down on the bottom of my shoe, my foot turned. I felt a snap, crackle and crunch. That was when I let out the scream heard across the state. Okay, so I’m exaggerating, but my throat actually hurt I had screeched so loud.

Gary helped me over to the sofa, and I waited, hoping the pain would subside.

It didn’t.

The next morning, there was still no possibility of me standing on that foot, let alone walking.

Gary drove me to the nearest emergency room. After getting signed in, he  wheeled me in a chair into the waiting area, where one person was hovering over a bucket. On the other side of the room, a woman wretched into a pail. I leaned toward Gary’s ear. “Get me outta here. I’ll wait outside near the doors.”

Apparently, some horrific stomach bug was going around. Neither of us were in the mood for catching it.

A few hours later, Gary wheeled me back out of the hospital with an ankle wrap, crutches and pain medication. No broken bones, but I likely tore or stretched the ligament around my left ankle. The treatment? Ice, ibuprofin, staying off of it and time.

One week later, still hobbling around on crutches, I took our dog, Max, out to the side of our house to play. You see, he’s a herding dog with lots of energy. I couldn’t walk him, so I threw the tennis ball for a game of fetch.

Max returned a bit slowly, which was odd for him. He usually raced like a greyhound. Finally, after about the third or fourth run, I noticed blood all over his fluffy white chest and legs. What?

Here’s what I needed to do … go inside and lay out towels so blood didn’t get all over the house, get Max inside to lie down on the towels, keep Max settled and calm while looking for the injury, find the injury, stop the bleeding, tend to the injury, wash the blood off his fur and discern whether he was in need of emergency care ….

…. all on only one working leg.

How in the world was I going to manage?

Read the rest of the story in my post One Gimp, Two Gimp 2.

Have you ever found yourself in a position where you had no recourse to fix a precarious predicament? Can you tell us about it?

 

 

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