It’s 10:30 a.m. on a Friday. I sit at my dining room table, still in my pajamas, my right foot elevated and wrapped in ice. I stepped off my back porch and into a small hole last evening, spraining my ankle.
I was with a contractor, who was showing me my empty beautiful backyard, after he and a crew of 6 worked tirelessly for two full days, removing my jacuzzi, decking, concrete walkway, wisteria, and underlying supports. The jacuzzi, circa 1985-ish, had seen its best days. The cover had been chewed by a bird dog. It was time to get rid of the mess.
As I stumbled in the hole, the contractor instinctively reached out to support me. After pulling off my shoes, I continued to walk the backyard with him. Things looked great, and I paid him.
Looking down at the ankle only a few minutes later, I see a baseball-sized swelling around the ankle. Uh oh. What will I do? I can’t be hobbling around the house, there’s way too much to do around here! We’ve been home less than a week, and every day, I’ve had projects to accomplish. This week alone, there’s been window installation, vinyl siding completion, painting, and backyard demolition. And that was just as of yesterday.
But everything stopped as I gingerly walked to Mark’s big recliner, and my two boys brought me pillows, ibuprofen, and a ziploc bag full of ice. They were so sweet and so attentive. Anything I needed they helped me with. We even foolishly ventured out to dinner, and I hobbled into the restaurant, holding onto A.J.’s arm. I propped the leg up in a spacious booth, and watched as my two boys declined the children’s menu, each devouring a teriyaki sirloin with sides. By the time we left, I could tell the ankle was worse. We drove home post haste.
They helped me back into the recliner. More ice and ibuprofen began to help. What was I going to do about the wet laundry in the washing machine? What about the two beds left to put clean sheets on? The world stopped, and I just sat. I had the two best nurses taking care of me.