It was June 9th, T-7 days until our big out-of-state move as I played what would become my final Friday tennis match at my favorite sport spot on earth, the club two blocks from our home, just hours before my going-away luncheon with my precious peeps. Corinne and I were holding our own against a badass doubles duo and I wasn’t going to let a point get away on my watch. I hate losing. And I didn’t want to let Corinne down; she’s the kind of gal who makes you want to fight to the finish. I planned to leave it all on the court that morning…
Suddenly and unexpectedly, two sets in as I went for a ball, I fell to the ground. It was as if time were suspended as I watched (and felt, very clearly) in slow-mo as the full weight of ‘me’ came crashing down upon my right foot. The first thought that entered my mind was that 4-letter word itself…M-O-V-E. Ugh. Bad timing.
All the mothering instincts of 11 women on three adjacent courts converged around me in a mili-second with offers to wrap, wince, ice, massage, give Advil, advice, rub Icey-hot, commiserate, and drive me to the nearest Urgent Care. I writhed in pain like a wounded animal, uttering guttural sounds and clearly instructing them not to even think about touching me. I knew it was only a bad sprain (call me Dr. Denise) and, once the intensity subsided, I insisted on dramatic photo-ops and a “YES! the party WILL GO ON! Don’t even consider taking me to ER!”
Thus began my truly bittersweet journey on one leg, as I hopped, groaned, iced, cried and crutched my way up and down stairs, through hallways and into the dark recesses of my mind, at moments entering into brief mental madness over my suddenly out-of-control impending move, continuing to ‘sort of’ attempt to pack up the house and deal with my new status of handicapped. My husband assured me I had a full week to recover, no worries, I’d be good-to-go!
I didn’t believe it for a minute; my body was telling me an entirely different story. And this time, I was right.
Two bones were broken and this gal – the indefatigable, ever-productive, constantly thinking, doing, moving, and yes, a little ‘loco-in-motion,’ obsessive compulsive, over-achieving ‘can-do’ chick got sat down on her butt until further notice.
My left leg soon became my best friend, and my M.O. was abruptly adjusted.
And next time, I’mma share some nuggets of gold I’m mining during this awkward season. Stay tuned and along the way, please chime in about YOUR difficult journey – I’d love to hear from YOU! (Click here for the next installment, Prisoner In a Minute)