Ouch.

Okay, so as you've already read, we took a little walk through Riverside Park last weekend. Some of you may recall that Riverside Park was the scene of a famous accident I had last summer. I broke my ankle while jogging through the park. It was at about 107th Street, and we walked by there this weekend for the first time since that horrible morning.


Yup, that's where it happened. I remember the place exactly. That first bench in the picture is where I sat for about five minutes after screaming the F-word over and over again as loudly as possible. There was a homeless man sleeping on the bench across from me and my horrific cries didn't seem to wake him up at all. He was probably drunk at 6:30 AM, lucky thing.

There was a little old lady out walking her tiny dogs and standing just a couple yards away from me when I fell. She was quite helpful. She walked over and said, "Oh dear, I would help you but I don't have a cell phone." And then she walked away. Thanks, lady. Of course, at that point I thought it was just a bad sprain. I had sprained my ankle before and was pretty sure I could get home on my own.

After sitting and taking stock for a few minutes (and wiping the pebbles out of my bloodied knee - I still have that scar, too), I started hobbling home. I had no cell phone and no money. Just my keys in my pocket. But hey, it was only nine short blocks and two long blocks home... how bad could that be?

I did not make it home on my own. I made it to 110th and Broadway and was almost in tears from the pain. Thank God, I managed to hobble to the M4 bus stop, pleaded with the driver to let me on without paying, and he brought me up to 116th. That walk across campus was THE MOST PAINFUL THING I HAVE EVER DONE. And I have titanium screws in my skull, so that's saying something.

I made my way to our apartment, where B was showering, and burst into the bathroom screaming, "HELP!!!! I NEED HELP!!! THE PAIN!!!!" He was suitably disturbed.

I'm already bored with this post, so I'll lay out the rest of the day quickly:
7:oo AM - B goes to store to buy ace bandages. Casey writhes in pain on the floor crying while he is gone.
7:30 AM - B returns and tells Casey he will carry her to the emergency room. Casey, through tears, tells him it's just a sprain and there is no reason to go to the ER.
7:45 AM - Casey calls her work and tells them, "I think I sprained my ankle. It's pretty sore. I'm going to come in a little late, but I'll definitely be in by noon."
8:00 AM - B leaves for work.
8:01 AM - Casey debates going to the emergency room.
9:00 AM - Casey tries to walk to the bathroom. Casey ends up crawling to the bathroom.
9:20 AM - Casey calls work. "Yeah, I'm not coming in."
10:45 AM - Casey still debates going to the ER. It's only three short blocks away... yet the blocks seem so long.
11:35 AM - Casey realizes she can probably get some narcotics for all this pain she's in if she goes to the ER.
11:36 AM - Casey starts hobbling to the ER.
3:30 PM - Casey leaves the ER with a diagnosis (broken ankle and a horrible sprain), and a prescription for narcotic pain killers. Casey hobbles to the pharmacy to obtain her narcotics.
3:40 PM - Casey remembers that they already gave her narcotics at the hospital. Is suddenly very happy.

And that's pretty much all I remember from that day. I did get B to take this picture of my ankle later that night.
Oh yeah, that's awesome. Believe me, my ankles and feet are NOT that fat normally! It was much cooler about two days later when all the blood had pooled in my foot and the whole thing was black. In fact I remember showing my coworkers later that week and saying, "See! It's like I have a giant hobbit foot!" (I was excited; I had narcotics. They weren't as enthused.) It took almost a month for all the bruising to go away, and much, much longer for all the swelling to go down. In fact, my right ankle is still a little bigger than my left and I'm starting to wonder if it's just going to stay that way.

So that is my great health tragedy from the summer of 2008. Someday I will tell you all the tale of my role in the great whooping cough pandemic of 2007, and how B proposed to me even after I gave him whooping cough!