Some of you may have already heard what I did earlier this week. Some of you will not be surprised to hear it.
I’ve been panicking about all the details of everything I have to get done over the next month or so. Not only do I have the book release and launch, but also a conference right after that, a house in dire need of spring cleaning, another book to write, flowerbeds and yard in need of weeding, thinning, and mulching, a garage in need of work…and a partridge in a pear tree, if you catch my drift. There are more details on top of that that are more personal, but suffice it to say…all good stuff, just a lot of details to handle.
Sometimes the best thing I can do when I feel overwhelmed is to start tackling the details that are right in front of me.
That means house and yard.
Over the last week, I started tearing apart my house. The weeding is (mostly) done in the backyard. Hanging baskets are up on the porch. I started inside, with taking down curtains to wash, washing windows, wiping down baseboards, clearing out cabinets and closets, etc. I always feel better when all of this is done, and I figured I could slowly get the entire house in order.
So, Monday night, BF had decided to get some stuff done at his house. I was alone at my house, and decided to take down the rest of the curtains in the dining room. To get to the last set, I was standing about three stair steps up, since the window is right at the base of the steps. I pulled down the valance and the curtains with no problem.
The problem was that I stepped on the trailing curtain as I tried to come down off the stairs.
I have no idea how graceful I looked (probably not at all), but it hurt.
I sat at the base of the stairs for a few minutes, collecting myself, before I made it into the living room and onto the couch. It only took me a few minutes to realize that 1) it was serious, and 2) I needed to go to the emergency room for x-rays.
I called BF, who came and picked me up. The minute he got me out onto the porch, the skies opened up and sheets of rain began to pour from the clouds. By the time we got to the emergency room we were soaked. And cold. And miserable. My hands were shaking, although I’m still not sure whether it was from the cold or from the injury itself. Probably both. And we were in the emergency room for more than two hours. Between the three medical professionals that took care of me…only one seemed like a human, with an actual sense of humor and compassion. The doctor especially seemed annoyed that I was even there, but it was the closest emergency room, urgent care was closed, and I’ve been to the ankle sprain rodeo before…I would rather go get x-rayed to be sure it’s not broken. And I couldn’t walk on it at all at the time.
I got lucky. It’s a bad bruise and a sprain, but it’s not anything to sneeze at. I’ll spare you the pictures, but my foot is black and purple on the inside AND outside of my foot, it’s still swollen, and it looks terrible.
Of course this happens when the house is still in the torn up, I’ve pulled everything out of the closets and cabinets, stage. Needless to say, the housecleaning is on hold for a couple of days. I’ll get back into it eventually, and get everything exactly the way I want it. I’m trying to take this as a sign that I needed to just slow down and take a breath. Or ten.
Good news is that I was only on crutches a couple of days, but am still hobbling.
I just wish I had a better story for how it happened.
Just call me Grace.