My No-Good, Terrible, Pretty Dumb Accident

I wish I could say it happened during the Olympic Trials, but it didn't

I wish I had a more interesting, dramatic backstory for this, but the simple, unexciting fact is that last week, while I was in New York, I tripped on a step at a friend’s house and broke my ankle. A lost opportunity, narratively speaking. I had major spine surgery a few years ago, necessitated by a bad fall while snowboarding, and I still get a little thrill when I tell the tale, since it makes me sound so sporty and tough. Tripping on a step is just stupid. I knew it wasn’t good when my stumble had sound effects—something between a snap, a crackle, and a pop. Uh-oh, I thought, this doesn’t bode well.

I waved off concern for a day, but my foot started to resemble a sausage, ready to burst out of its casing. My friends insisted I go to the ER, which I finally did to appease them, expecting to be sent home with an Ace bandage and a finger-wagging about being careful. Welp, I was wrong. I am the proud owner of a a dorsal talus avulsion fracture and soft tissue swelling, for those following along on their Invisible Woman models. As soon as I got home to Los Angeles I saw an orthopedist, who swapped out my ER temporary splint for a newfangled Moon Boot that you pump with air to make it fit snugly. I also was fitted with newfangled crutches that look like something from the Tesla product line: They have spring-loaded tops and sleek white poles and torture me less when I swing along on them. It’s about time someone redesigned crutches: The standard-issue ones, which I had gotten at the ER, are more or less identical to the ones used by Revolutionary War soldiers.

I’m absolutely furious about the whole thing, which has turned my summer upside down. I can’t drive. I am not supposed to travel more than necessary, so I had to scratch my plans to do a mother-son road trip with my kid, who is starting at Tulane in mid-August. And I had to cancel plans to go to an artist residency in Mexico, a three-week stint that I counted on for the final push to get my book finished. I’m still hoping to finish this fall, so the book can be released next fall. I will have to create the same magic mood at home that I have found at residencies—no distractions, pure focus. I guess being hobbled, literally, my opportunities for distractions are few and far between. One of my favorite past times is working in my garden, which is probably the very last thing on earth I can do in these circumstances, so there goes that distraction. I’m already bored, and it’s only been a few days. I get reassessed in a month to see if I can offload the crutches and start physical therapy, or, I suppose, to be told I have to stay the course a little longer.

My fashion take on this moment is to be glad that I recently overrode my general lack of interest in shorts and bought a few pairs I like—useful, since that’s the easiest thing to wear with this giant boot. I don’t hate shorts, but I never quite landed on my shorts identity. I know I’m not a Daisy Dukes gal, but I could never decide whether I liked big baggy shorts or sleek, knee-capping shorts. This year I found a few pairs that split the difference in an attractive way: a little bit wide, mid-thigh, tasteful but not so tasteful that I look like I’m in Friday casual at a mid-sized management company. They’re going to be what I live in for the next month or so.

Thanks for listening to me whine. I know, I know: I am lucky I didn’t snap my entire leg off, or fall and clobber myself on the head, or anything worse or permanent—I get it, I have perspective, but it still is a drag!

SHOW NOTES

—For the last few years, I’ve been keeping a diary that’s pretty cool. It’s called One Line a Day. It’s a five-year diary, with small spaces for each day, just enough room to jot down what you did or what was happening in the world that day, nothing extensive. But each day is on the same page as the same day for the five years the diary covers, so you immediately see what you did the year before, or two, etc. I don’t have the patience to keep a real diary, but I love seeing the five years together on one page. This is my second one of these; I completed five years in my first one and got another book last year. I also bought one to keep in reserve; I always worry about companies going out of business so I figured I’d stockpile. It’s been especially interesting to see when Covid began and what I was doing then versus a year later, and two years later. I don’t think I’m describing it particularly well, so take a look at the link and it should be more clear.