Right when we moved to New York, I had this thought process I’d fall into: Why am I doing laundry at the laundromat? Why am I hauling 40 lbs of groceries up 100 stairs? Without fail, every time I starting falling into this pity party, I’d see someone with some sort of broken limb, broken neck, crutches… you name it—perspective slapped me in the face.
It’s always been a fear of mine to have a broken bone here. I mean seriously. Could there be a more inconvenient place for that to happen? In my head, no.
But oh yes, it happened.
So… what happened? How’d you do it?
I don’t know.
I mean, there must have been some sort of moment, right? That you felt it break?
Were you running?? Did you trip or kick something?
No really. I have no idea.
I’ve had this conversation about 37 times in the past week, which is wildly entertaining. On an unrelated note, I’m currently taking entries for a more riveting story to tell.
The real story, is that about a month ago, the top of my left foot started hurting. I figured I just pulled something and ignored it. It started hurting more and more, and in that last week it was painful to walk down the stairs and walk period. A small fact to ignore when you have no car and walk everywhere. So my husband made me go see a podiatrist and the verdict was in: STRESS FRACTURE.
But… how’d you do it?!?
I have no idea. REALLY. It apparently happens from repeated pressure in the same place over time. Leave it to me to break something walking. My second metatarsal has a stress fracture, and apparently this particular bone is especially susceptible for me because it’s irregularly longer than most people’s. I feel so special.
So the adventure didn’t stop there. After I was diagnosed with the stress fracture, the Manhattan podiatrist told me that they were out of the walking boot I needed, and I’d have to stop by the Brooklyn office to pick it up.
Let me get this straight… you want me to WALK to go pick up the boot for my broken foot. Okay. Got it.
Long story short, they gave me the wrong boot (one intended for people using crutches), which I realized after a day and a half of am-I-seriously-supposed-to-walk-in-this!? agony. When I went back, they still didn’t have the right boot, so I wore a surgical shoe for two days, and then FINALLY I got the right boot. Not too painful, not too loose, but justttt right. This must be what goldilocks felt like.
So that’s the story. I’m apparently in this lovely boot for 4-6 weeks, but I’ve already gotten pretty speedy at my new wobble.
Humor aside, I am grateful and humbled that I’ve felt God actively preparing me for this. He has really been chipping away at the idols of comfort/predictability in my life. This definitely is not comfortable or something I could predict or control, but I can choose to have joy amidst it with his grace.
James 1:2-4 “Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.”
One thing to definitely be joyful about is all of the free subway seats for the next 4-6 weeks!!!