Monday, August 15, 2011

Because I want to be like Kent, but better

Yesterday I was carrying a box downstairs and missed a step.  I landed awkwardly on on the side of my foot and twisted my ankle around in a bad way.  Then I fell down the stairs. 

My first thought was "Oh, shit.  We're having a baby, and I just broke my ankle." I let out a scream of frustration and pain.  Chelsey came down to check on me.  I was trying to not throw up.  Then I threw the box at her on accident while I was trying to clear a path. 

But I was able to put weight on it.  And even though is swelled up like a grapefruit, I think it's just sprained.  So I am now officially hobbled for the arrival of this baby. 

But at least I didn't break my ankle.  Right before I moved from Atlanta to New Orleans. 


2 comments:

  1. I got sick to my stomach reading this. My tolerance for ankle related stories is very very low.

    Sometimes I'll just be sitting there, and I will think of my ankle all twisted and mangled and it get woozy.

    Keep it elevated, put ice on it, and wrap it tight. Eat prescription pain killers.

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  2. I did all of those yesterday. I am doing one of them today. That was my first experience with physical pain making me want to hurl. It is very visceral. So much so that I can still channel it.

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