If Gwyneth can rock them, I can too...right?
So Krysten over at After 'I Do' decided to do Way Back Wednesday... which I think is a great idea. So today, I think I might induldge...on a Thursday.
Especially because I think some people may really enjoy this story.
So I, Little Miss Coordination, was on crutches three separate times during high school. Yes, that's right my friend. A good chunk of my adolescent experience was spent hobbling around on these painful metal sticks of death.
"Why," you may ask.
Well...each was for a separate injury.
Each was a spectacular display of ...awesomeness.
The 3rd (and final, thus far) time I was on them was during my senior year because I sprained my back (yes, apparently you can do that) playing basketball.
The 2nd round of death was junior year after I had fallen into a set of metal choir risers ... (that one was spectacular. i cut tendons, muscle tissue, all of it. 22 stitches. awww yeah.) and destroyed my knee.
But the first time I was ever on crutches, I had broken my foot. I tore all the ligaments in the top of my foot (even today it's still smaller than the other one), broke a piece of bone under my ankle, tore a tendon on the side, and managed to sprain the top of my ankle. All during the middle of my sophomore year. Yay me.
But, how did you manage this amazing feat?
By tripping over my other foot.
Now, I know you're probably ready to pee your pants with the raucous laughter currently flowing from your lungs...but I'm being serious.
I was chasing a friend of mine down the hallway... running to catch up so we could walk to class together (awww, presh.) managed to somehow get all tangled up and catch my foot on my other one. I then stumble and one foot (el broken-o) stays while the rest of my body keeps moving. I hear/feel this big pop and was immediately like, 'Dang. That hurt!' (Yes, I've always been this astute.) But no matter how much it hurt, I still had 4 hours of school left (yay dedication). So me, being the idiot that I am, proceed to just deal with it until the end of the day. Honestly. I walked around on it 'til my mom came to pick me up...at which time I dramatically limped to her car insisting something was sincerely wrong with my foot.
Now let me say something about my mother...she is a wonderful, charitable, happy woman. But not always the most sympathetic. She's of the "rub some dirt in it" school. She is NOT a wuss. (She's hardcore. Serious.)
Well, my mother tells me to "stop faking it and get in the car." I obey (I'm not stupid.). But the longer I sit in the car ... and the more I try to move...the more pain I'm in. Finally I convince her to take me to the doctor -- just in case. The doctor informs us both that there is DEFINITELY something wrong with it. (And like an angel I totally don't make a face at my mom and mock her ...uhhh. Sure.)
Well, several hours of X-rays, paperwork, and that awful hospital smell later ... I'm the proud recipient of a really pretty ace bandage to wear until the swelling goes down and they can cast it (for 6 weeks) AND we get to go get crutches. Let me tell you...if I never have to use them again, I will be one happy girl. (I swear I had bruised sides and armpits til I was 20.)
But even this wasn't the end of it. See, I'm miniature at a good 5'1 and 7/8" (I lie and say 5'2") so getting the full hang of crutches that are technically a little too tall for you ... was quite the feat. And not one I mastered with grace or poise. Instead it was mastered after I fell down in front of my entire homeroom the first day ... AND NO ONE HELPED ME UP. Serious. It wasn't til my friend Diane walked in and screamed, "No one helped her up?! You guys are so dumb!" That anyone even flinched. So, needless to say, I picked up how to use those suckers real quick.
The end. Now you know far too much about one tiny weird aspect of my life. I understand if you never read again. Hahahahaha. (but seriously...please come back.)