Just Call Me Klutz

A week ago, Monday morning, I drove myself down the road and across the river to find the nearest Amtrak station. Well, not really a station, but a platform where the train stops. My plan was to board the train and go to Portland, where I would have lunch and then board another train to head south to my old home grounds and visit friends for a few days. That was my plan.

However, my klutzy self got in my way. I boarded the train by falling into it – blame my brain on not agreeing with my eyes, my backpack making me top heavy, and a very tall step. It went like this:

The train attendant was standing outside to the left of the door – the normal folding step they put out was not out. Because the attendant was to the left I moved to the right and reached for the grab bar – the one my eyes didn’t see but my brain insisted was there. Top heavy, stubborn brain, high step, and I plunged forward, landing on my left knee and outer ankle bone. It hurt, but I told the attendant I was fine because I thought I was, and took my seat. Fortunately, I had requested a lower level seat for that early, shorter portion of the trip.

Yeah – “I’m okay” – except by the time we got to Portland, I realized I could not put any weight on that ankle – whoops. So – we filled out the Amtrak paperwork, they called an ambulance, and I became Queen of the Day – center of attention as I was wheeled through the station on a gurney, heading to that vehicle with the blinking red lights – you know, the one that’s hard to see so no one is whispering to the nearest person about its presence. Off to the hospital we went.

The hospital part was fine – everyone was very nice, very attentive – they had people to come check me in, then another people to come do a little more checking in, then a security guard to search my belongings – that says something about where this country is, doesn’t it? They finally took me to x-ray, and it was determined that I had fractured my fibula. The fibula, it turns out, is not a weight-bearing bone, so the solution was a walking boot and a walker, and I was free to leave. Free to leave – but I’m sure in the not-too-distant future I will be notified that I did not leave for free. I had made a hotel reservation for the night, thank you iPhone and Expedia – and called Lyft for a ride there. The driver was very nice, took good care of me, and carried my bags into the hotel. The hotel staff was very nice, very helpful, and took my bags up to my room – because when using a walker, carrying bags is not much of an option. Who knew? And using the bag as a backpack was also not a very good option, it seemed. I thought I’d take the train home the next day because continuing my trip seemed a very foolish notion, but Kat said no, I’ll pick you up. Good thing, because how did I think I was going to manage my bags? I mean, the backpack thing – not doing that one again.

A modern product of Covid came to my aid – I discovered what a wonderful thing Door Dash is. And how nice a lot people really are. My Door Dash driver brought my dinner to my room, and even opened the bottle of beer I had ordered – because I was absolutely certain that my day warranted a beer. At the very least.

Kat picked me up the next morning, brought me home, has tended me very nicely. I have learned that I can walk, slowly, with the walking boot on (hmmm, maybe that’s why they call it that), but don’t even try without it. I have learned the walker is for stability and balance, and I can do without it as long as there are things near to use for support if needed. It works now for things like getting to the bathroom, getting coffee, things like that. Not to be taken lightly, however. I am managing. Not necessarily happily, but I am managing. I will go see the local orthopedist on Tuesday, and how we proceed will be seen more clearly then. I hope.

This is interfering greatly with my patio cleanup project, and our weather has been perfect for getting outside and doing things. Of course. The birds are building new nests in the nesting boxes. The sun is shining.

But inside, there is some nice stuff happening too. Lila, my lemon tree, very pretty and the lemon flower is sweet – I cannot say lemon tree without the song popping into my head – has what I really do believe might be lemons because they seem to be very slowly getting larger:

I’ve found seven of those little guys. So exciting! I’m going to be a mom again!

And my little “Christmas” cactus has a tag that says it’s a “holiday” cactus. One half of her bloomed a couple of weeks ago, and now the other half is getting ready to take its turn.

That’s not a very good picture. Blame it on the ankle – that’s a handy excuse for everything, don’t you think?