Yep. I Broke My Ankle

I broke my ankle recently. Not because I landed wrong during a skydiving descent, or because I took a wrong step while climbing Mount Kilimanjaro. Nope. I broke my ankle walking down the steps at the local park while hunting Pokemon with my sixteen-year old son. Can you believe that? Oh the things we Moms do to stay connected to our kids.

When I explained to the ER nurse how it all happened, (Stepped wrong. Fell on my own ankle. Broke ankle.) he was less than impressed. In fact, my injury was so humorous--and boring--that a few other nurses piped in to offer their suggestions for a "better story." Some of the suggestions were, "I tied up with Rhonda Rousey," and "I miscalculated during my black belt test," just to name a few. They had a good laugh. I had a good laugh but naturally, it got me thinking. And not just about my broken ankle.

My nurses were great but they were completely wrong. I don't need a better story. I like my story. I like that I "took one for the team." Of course, I'd rather not have a broken ankle but at least I earned it doing something I love--spending time with my kids. It was worth it. No, I'm not sailing around the world or getting lost on some tropical island with a coconut drink in my hand but I like where I am now. I like who I am. So although I'm all for a better story, when it comes to writing at least, I like the life I have now. I am very grateful for it. Wouldn't trade it for the world.

It's going to take me a while to heal. I'm told a total of twelve weeks (we'll see about that) but I have my keyboard. I'll get some writing done. I'll let my family wait on me hand and foot. (Yeah, right.) I won't do much Pokemon hunting but at least I have Snorlax now.

Whatever that is.