More No Good Rotten News

This week has kicked my ass. Right at the height of Tuesday’s “I’m doing this and it feels so good” jubilation I was walking the dog with my kiddo and fell, and sprained my ankle so badly I passed out from the pain.

And as I crawled back home and collapsed face down on the grass on my front lawn all I could think was “I can’t do this. I can’t do this alone.”

And I was right. I can’t. So my kids got me ice and took care of the dog (even when she puked on the carpet!), Tuesday night my brother’s girlfriend grabbed a tensor bandage from work and dropped it off for me on her way home. Wednesday was my husband’s day with the kids. He dropped them off to school, picked them up, did all of the jobs while I elevated and iced my ankle in bed. Thursday my father in law did a school run and my neighbour went to get arnica and pain relief meds for me. Friday Max picked me up in her arms, held me while I cried and brought me to get X-rays. Now I’m at her house while we wait for the results, she’s making sure I rest and I’m cared for. I asked for help. And I accepted it.

For some reason the injury brought my ptsd symptoms screaming back. The mental discomfort of these triggers are just as bad as the swollen blue ankle. And they’re hard to explain to someone who has never experienced the intrusive thoughts, the full body triggers, the panic of imaging all the pains life still has in store for me. I’ve been having panic attacks and crying fits, just like I did in the early days after the accident. The sound of my ankle popping rings in my ears and my whole body tightens and tenses and cringes. Everything feels terrifying.

But I’m letting everyone help. And I’m saying out loud what my symptoms are. And I’m doing the right things. And it will get better.

Our cabin weekend for my birthday is cancelled. And so is our zoo trip where I was supposed to dress up like Ms. Frizzle and give Max the whole tour. More cancellations in a year of cancellations. Instead I’m in Max’s bed with the big fluffy down blanket we call The Cloud. All she’s done all day is eat my pussy, rub arnica on my ankle and bring me breakfast in bed. It could be fucking worse ya know? This year has been full of lessons.