I am a very impatient person, or should I say, I am not a very good patient for a person. Now that was clear as mud, wasn't it?
I sprained my ankle, quite awhile ago now, but it still pains me. The pain is no longer extensive physically, but mentally it is quite a bitch. Or I am a bitch. Or I bitch about it. Whatever.
The confusion is overwhelming. Obviously. And perhaps contagious.
So there I was, camping on the 4th of July with Rusty, Brook, her parents and brother, and all the babies. None of whom are actually babies anymore. But babies nevertheless.
The final morning, I stagger from my tent to dump my "pee bucket" (hahaha, no one knows that part of the story til now), and head down to the river to rinse it out..... Having had no coffee and being bleary eyed and less than coordinated, I am not at my physical best. As I stumble down the short but steep incline, I caught my toe mid step and bent my foot over forwards.... there was a horrific snap/crack/pop and I tumbled into the bushes. I managed only a small squeaky "oh", and just laid there, trying to figure out if it was broken, and breathing through the pain. Lots and lots of pain.
So there I am, just sprawled out on my side staring at the river, trying to get past my lightheadedness and need to puke. Then I notice Brooks brother Colin coming down to the river to chain his dog up. Kind of right by my head. I lay there, waiting for him to notice me, and ask me if I needed help. Or if I was drunk from the night before or something. But no, he doesn't even SEE me! Now mind you, I can see HIM! Or at least the chain he was using. Then he goes away.
Well, I figure help from that quarter will not be forthcoming, so I endeavor to see if I can get up. I have figured out that my ankle does not seem to be broken, I can wiggle it around and all, but it is seriously messed up, for sure. So I try to stand up, and immediately fall down again. Kind of fainted more or less. Well THIS time he notices me, and asks if everything is alright. I tell him I hurt my ankle severely, and need help to get into my tent, before I puke or worse. So he helps me into my tent, asks me if I need or want anything else, and in my self sufficient delirium, I of course say no.
So I lay there. And lay there. And lay there some more, in HUGE pain.
Then I notice Rusty out at the picnic table, talking to Colin. For awhile. I wonder why Colin doesn't tell Rusty that his mother is laying in her tent, in pain and anguish. But since he doesn't, I have no choice but to holler and holler until Rusty hears me and comes over. He brings me Ibuprophen, he brings me ice, he brings me sympathy. I need them all.
It hurt like hell, did I mention that?
Oh, and don't ever expect Colin to be any good at "search and rescue". NOT his forte.
Well, I AM recovering, but I still walk like a gimp, or a very slow "old" person. I am sick and tired of not being hale and hearty. The ankle burns..... and it is still big and fat... a cankle if you will. But it IS getting better.
I may put off the amputation after all. The bitchiness will remain.
