Under The Tuscan Sun...

Any arbitrary turning along the way and I would be else ware; I would be different...

One of my favorite movies, Under The Tuscan Sun, had probably one of the most profound messages ever, but I doubt very many people caught it.  They were probably too busy admiring the scenery or wishing they too could go on vacation and never come home and just buy a home in Italy.  I have went on many trips where I wished I had never returned, but alas, my financial situation has never allowed such a thing to happen.

When she arrives in Italy, at some point, the realtor asks her what she wants to experience in her new home.  What does she hope to get out of this major change in her life.  She says things like, she wants a wedding, a family, love to grow etc.  At the end of the movie, she gets all these things.  They just aren't for her personally.

For several weeks I have asked God to give me a break.  I was stressed out at work.  I was stressed out with my sister (its hard to work so close to a sibling, I don't care who you are). I was stressed out living with Dad.  I was stressed out that I have to work pay check to pay check just to pay for choices I made what seems like eons ago.  I was stressed out that my dog has epilepsy.  I was MAJORLY stressed out that I had been faithfully exercising and eating better for almost 4 weeks and not feeling much of a change.  Frankly, I had it.  I needed a damn break.  A getaway.  A reprieve.  SOMETHING.  ANYTHING.
So Saturday, January 28th I headed out to my cousin Lori's for some adult cheer.  It was supposed to be a sleepover, but I opted to go early so I could come home and be with Brodie, whom I hate leaving at home alone.  I behaved...had my few drinks early, ate lots of delicious food and took off for home around 11:30.  I remember looking at the clock in the car when I pulled in to my driveway and thinking its 12:08, Dad is not home...odd.  I got out of my car and proceeded to walk to the door, instantly noticing that the motion lights on the garage did not come on.  What happened next I can only describe as something I never want to feel again.

It happened fast.  I felt the bone break before I fell.  I hit the ice and began to fly backwards.  Instinct tells you to try to stop yourself by "grabbing on" gravity says otherwise.  The force of such opposites snapped my tibia through the joint that connects it to the ankle and away from my toes.  Thus dislocating my ankle.  I somehow managed to break the ankle on both sides, although I am not entirely sure how.  The good news was that I didn't displace my ankle which would have been far worse surgery.  The bad news was I didn't give a shit at the time.

I was given propofol in the ER in order for them to SET the foot for surgery the next day.  Apparently I screamed bloody murder, I however, do not remember a thing.

I had to pee so bad in the ER, they attempted to use a bed pan, which 100% didn't work and I ended up wetting myself.  It wasn't enough that I was soaked to the bone having laid on ice on concrete for at least 20 minutes.  Needless to say, I was humiliated.  It wouldn't be the last time this situation would humiliate me.

I think I got to my room about 3 or 4 in the morning, surgery took place around 9.  It went faster than expected which was good and according to the Dr. everything went well.  I had to get myself up to use the commode which required a nurses help.  Unbelievably, the one I loved the most, was a man.  His name was Dusty.  Incredible bedside manner...did not make me feel humiliated...was very gentle with my leg, ALWAYS fixed my bed, pillows, got me fresh water, ice...he was my middle of the night guy...loved him.  I will send them a letter about how much I loved him.  The nurses prior to him sucked.  The evening after surgery, I had a charlie horse, a major muscle spasm in that leg, I was screaming in pain, even called mom to tell her to call the police (who knows why) they just kept saying someone would be there shortly.  I waited an hour to go to the bathroom.  When Dusty got to work that night, I told them I would have them all fired.  And when the morning girls came in and relieved Dusty, I also told them and without giving them names they knew who I was talking about.  1000 of people want your job, if you don't like it, quit.  I didn't need anyone to wipe my ass, I needed someone to lift up my leg over the side of the bed and hold me while I maneuvered myself to the commode...not rocket science.

Anyway...I cannot put weight on my foot...possibly up to 3 weeks, so I am resting at moms (who's house is all one level.)  Mornings are hard...anytime I put my leg down to move or transport, I feel like thousands of razors are cutting me, apparently that is what the blood flowing to the injury feels like.

I am doing my best to ween myself off the pain meds, but who am I kidding...I just can't.  Too soon.  This isn't a fast recovery...at all.  I am angry.  I am depressed.  I am pissed.  I am hurt.  I am so many emotions.  I am tired of being helpless.  I haven't, until now, had the desire to write or even care to.  I can see the light of day, but I haven't felt it.  Trust me, I know people have it far worse than I do.

The moral of this story...I asked God for a break.  I got it.  He gave me everything I asked for.  I didn't give details, I just asked for a damn break.  I got 3 of them really...but the point is...I got away from work, away from the house, some space from sister (who needed it from me as well)...you have to be careful for what you wish for...or mostly how you wish for it.

I have a tremendous amount of bad luck.  Ask most people and they will say its pretty much all I have had.  And they will also say, your luck has to change right?  Well, it hasn't.  I don't know if it will.  I think I have to accept that I am going to get a shitty hand no matter how I cut it.  I guess the hopeless romantic in me thinks that my ship will someday come in and it wont require surgery...of any kind.  Or perhaps I just need to move to Tuscany.