Unfortunately that picture revealed that I'd broken it. In case you haven't learned where your fifth metatarsal is yet, it's in your foot. Yep. I broke my foot.
Frankly, I'm not quite sure what I even did. I was out delivering my neighborhood newsletter route (Seth hated this volunteer job of mine to begin with!) on a nice sunny Tuesday with Jasper in tow in the stroller. I took one little step down and just landed wrong on my foot. Some sort of strange twist, although it did nothing to my ankle. I didn't even fall to the ground. I righted my foot and buckled over in what felt like a blow to the gut. I thought I might get sick for a moment, so I stood there hunched over. Then I stood up straight and noticed that my foot seemed to hurt quite a bit. I took a tentative step or two and thought about that old if-you-can-move-it-it's-not-broken saying.
I turned around and pushed the stroller the block and a half back home with a little limp. I managed to get in the house, call Seth and tell him what an idiot I was and then just tried to stay off of it as best I could the rest of the day. On Wednesday I woke up with it more swollen than the day before and hurting quite a bit more. Seth stayed home and decided to take me to the doctor. Needless to say, I was surprised when they told me I'd broken a bone.
The doctors kept asking me if I had hobbies or interests that might be impacted by the break. As in, was I on the Blazers' dance team? Planning on running a marathon anytime soon? Planning a trip to Disneyland? (That always happens, the doctor said.) Nope. "What do you like to do?" the doctor asked.
Feeling slightly deflated at my less-than-exciting lifestyle, I just looked to Jasper, who was sitting there next to me in his stroller. I "like" to do laundry, cook dinner, carry my son up and down the stairs in my house, drive to the grocery store, run errands, pick up our medicines, and, from time to time, get out and enjoy the weather with a nice walk.
Seth, jokingly, said, "Well, guess you can't play soccer anymore." The doctor perked up and said, "You play soccer?" No, I said, drawing out the word like it was the silliest suggestion I'd ever heard.
"Good," the doctor said.
What a relief.
I'm in a walking boot for six weeks. I can take it off for sleep and showers only. I'll get it rechecked in two weeks to make sure it's starting to heal. The doc said it will probably be about three months before it feels back to normal again. Oh, and I'm not supposed to drive. For six weeks.
The good news, yes, there is some, is that Seth had planned to take a week of vacation next week anyways. We didn't have travel plans and hoped to do a few things around town, although now even our planned trip to the zoo might even be out of the question. Thankfully, though, Jasper seems to be on the mend. He has returned to his normal self and won't stop moving or babbling for a second. We're still doing inhaler treatments as he needs them, but his breathing and cough seem to be much better.
I've heard that when it comes to caring for babies, the Big Guy only gives you what you can handle. Let's hope that's true in this case. Because I'm thinking it's gonna be a tough one. It is hard not to smile, though, when I see these cheeks!
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