After a disaster of a beach trip in which my ds wanted nothing more than another beach-goers inflatable rowboat, we soon left the sandy area and headed up some rocks towards the showers. .. Which, if I knew where I was would have taken me 8 minutes to get to. Instead about an hour later we ended up back at the beach (thank god, because there was a while there I was worried- no cell phone, large campsite, no sense of direction:/ thank god remaining family at the beach was loud, we followed the voices and all finally headed back to the showers. Gave my dog, ds and me a shower, and headed back to our campsite to climb MORE rocks. I love climbing told, this was by far my fave. Aspect of this campsite, the beach was awesome, but I love scaling me some rocks:)
After another 30 mins heckling out some deer beyond the rocks, we realized we forgot something, an I knew already if I went back down I wasnt coming up. hadn't eaten, been on the go non-stop for almost 3 hours, hadn't slept well because our yet zipper was broken and I was scared out dog would run away .. (Again.) so I start heading down, looking forward to sitting quietly. Just a few boulders away from the fire pit and I step down with my evil-crocs on and hear the loudest crack - which really didn't sound much different than a typical hour crack except for being like 20 times louder!
Instantly I react by making sure my foot was aligned. Good move? Bad move? I don't know. No fucking way was I letting my ankle remain bent if it even actually had been though.
I'm sitting there, my husband asking if I'm ok I tell him I think I broke my ankle, please remain calm and get me some water.
He takes our son to get water.. My son is a bit spacey (thanks mom/autism) and somehow got smacked by the car door; husband out.
Dearest daughter, mommy could *really* use some water, would you please get me some? Down she goes. Not quite processing the urgency she's not even half way casually sauntering down the rocks and my vision begins to darken, the view looked like a water colour painting, still wet as black drops fell and spread until almost the whole picture was covered.
Just before I laid down I called one last hope - a friend at the campsite I yelled down to. Finally I had some water and everyone was calm.
Unable (or unwilling to try) to move, my husband carries me down the last few rocks as I lovingly tell him that I've always dreamed of this moment, which I regretted admitting when we were both laughing and I started picturing both of us falling.
Just as we are about to reach the chairs set across from each other for me to rest, the only usable vehicle in our campsite comes back with the drivers face obviously figuring out some crisis.
And there begins the 7 hour hospital experience, involving lots of pedicure jokes, and thoughts of how little I will have to do (wrong- lifting your body with your arms is a lot of work.) and how I planned it so my husband would be stuck doing it all..
Reality is way less fun than my thoughts.
It's hard to pee.
It's hard to see my husband doing everything and not be able to help.
It's hard to want what I want and not be able to do it myself, there's only so much I'm willing to ask for that I can't do.
Here's to quick and excellent healing:)
*drinks drink I would have if I could walk yet*