Let's start with the reason why I have been spending so much time on the couch. Two and half weeks ago, Evan and I were making dinner and I was chatting his ear off. He'd started the grill (we were going to grill a pizza for the first time!) and was going out to check the fire and I followed him outside to continue with my chatter. As I stepped down the one, single stair that leads out our back door, my foot slipped. Forgetting that I was 8 months pregnant and not at all centered, I tried to catch balance, but ended up falling sideways and felt my ankle snap. I thought that I screamed out in pain, but Evan said that I didn't scream at all, he just heard a crash and me crying. I knew instantly it was broken. I have never broken a bone in my body (except for a toe), but I knew that this was going to be a trip to the emergency room.
The thing about the fall is that it was all in slow motion for me; like those replays in football where they show the player's foot turn in a way no human foot should ever turn. I have been having issues watching football with Evan the last couple of weeks if one of the guys on the field hurts his ankle in any way.
The good news of all of this is, I did not fall on my stomach in any way. Never a cramp, never any pain.
After I told Evan not to touch me (I am one of those people who hate to be talked to or touched when I'm hurt. Yes, I realize it makes me sound like a jerk, but it has to all be on my terms.), I looked up and tried not to sob when I saw that my girls had run over to see if I was okay along with about 6 of the neighborhood kids. They were all standing around me in a semi circle...staring. I told Evan we'd have to go the ER, but I wasn't really sure how I was going to stand up, let alone hobble my gigantic pregnant self down the (all of a sudden, super long) sidewalk to my car. The neighbor came out to see if I was ok and was kind enough to help me up. Evan drove the car up to the back door (over our lawn and sidewalk, which all the kids thought was awesome) and I limped to the front seat. Thankfully, the neighbor offered to keep the girls and feed them while we went to the hospital.
I will not bore you with the details of how the x-ray technician freaked out that I was pregnant and covered me with 3 lead jackets but was by no means gentle with my very, very hurt ankle. Nor will I go into the story about how, if you are over 20 weeks pregnant, you are shuttled straight up to Labor & Delivery from the ER for 4 hours of monitoring and that, once up there, other doctors (like orthopedics who are supposed to tell you how bad your break is) have a hard time finding you and telling you the results of the xrays.
I will say that my break was a stable fracture and I did not need surgery. I was given a walking boot that I will need to wear for at least 6 weeks. I was also prescribed (yes, prescribed) a walker to help me get around. I am like an old, broken woman. An old, broken, pregnant woman, that is.
On the way to the hospital, I did break down and cry. Not so much for the pain I was in, but for the realization that I was not going to have the birth I had been planning in my head for this last pregnancy of ours. I was not going to get to spend the last few weeks of my pregnancy organizing and getting our house ready for the new person coming to live with us. To be honest, I have only recently stopped mourning the birth I had envisioned. I have (slowly) come to terms with the fact that I will be going into labor with a broken ankle and a boot on my foot. I was reassured by all the labor and delivery doctors and nurses that I was not the first lady to have a natural delivery with a broken foot/ankle/leg.
Of course, I broke my right ankle, which means no driving for me until the boot comes off. This is where I get to brag about how awesome my parents are. When I called them to tell them that I was in the hospital with a broken foot (well, Evan had to tell them because as soon as I heard my mom's voice I started crying like a baby because my mom is a fabulous caretaker and I super wanted her in the hospital with me), my dad went into protective mode. My parents had already planned a trip to come and see us in February to help after the baby was born. My parents asked if I wanted my mom to come and stay with us until my boot came off and I immediately said yes. I fell on a Friday and my dad had changed my mom's plane ticket so that she was at our house by Sunday night. Honestly, I am forever in debt to them because I do not know how we'd have functioned these last two weeks without her. Being so pregnant has made this even more tricky because I can't bend at the waist, I have no sense of balance, and I have a lot of doctors appointments I have to go to because they want to continue to keep a close eye on the baby since I had such a fall. My mom has taken over laundry, chauffeuring, and a lot of the child care while I bitterly sit on the couch wishing I could stinking get up and get my own glass of water, but knowing that I can't. She's such a trooper, too, because for the first full week I had cellulitis and was in a terrible amount of pain. I could barely hobble to the bathroom and cried a lot.
Now, I'm on the mend. I was able to "walk" up the stairs last night and actually got to sleep in my own bed. I'm feeling well enough that I'll be able to do it again tonight. I am taking bigger steps with the walker and am pretty confident that I won't need to use the walker around my house by this weekend. We've gotten to see a lot of this baby with ultrasounds making sure my placenta is where it should be and it's kind of neat to see such a big baby in utero. Right now I am of three mind sets--1. I am at that point in the pregnancy where I am ready to be done and have this baby out but 2.I really need my foot to be better so I'd like the baby to it's time because the longer it waits the stronger my ankle will be but 3.dude, I'm ready to be done being pregnant and wearing a boot.
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