Knitting of many kinds
There is much knitting going on here these days, of one kind or another.
But let me start at the beginning of my most recent escapade.
Saturday morning several weeks ago I got up nice and early to take Buddy and meet some friends for a hike in the woods. We met at an agreed upon parking lot and drove in one car up into the foothills to a residents only park. We set off in the woods - Buddy and me, and our friends and their grandson. It was a nice cool morning, the scenery was beautiful and the trail was narrow but well defined and easy to follow. The only thing I was concerned about was the abundance of poison oak and how to keep my son out of it.
After about 1/2 mile we had gone up the first hill and were going down the other side. The boys got a burst of energy and started running ahead down the path. I had bad visions of my son tumbling down the side of the hill through the poison oak (those of you who have been reading for a while know that he has a knack for getting into mischief) so I started moving faster, trying to catch up with him.
The next thing I knew I was lying on the ground on my back, clutching my ankle. I have vague memories of feeling my ankle twist, of hearing a pop, but it all happened very fast. Mostly I was aware of being in excruciating pain, just yelling with the pain of it. Really, it hurt quite a lot. Not as much as childbirth (having done that once completely unmedicated) but really, really painful.
I lay on the ground, clutching my ankle and moaning, for a few minutes. I had to fend off my friend who was trying to massage my leg, thinking that I had a leg cramp (I'm afraid I was a little curt, yelling "don't touch it!") Instead I asked him to go after the boys so they wouldn't get too far off by themselves. My other friend helped by reminding me to breathe, which I was quite forgetting to do.
After a few minutes I decided the only thing to do was to start heading back to the car. I asked my friend to check on the kids and started walking, slowly, back the way I had come. It has been pointed out to me that this may not have been the best choice, and in retrospect I probably agree. But at the time the only options I could think of were calling 911 or walking back on my own. I'm afraid I did a very female thing - I decided if I could walk it couldn't be that bad, and calling 911 would involve a lot of fuss and expense. Plus I didn't have cell reception. So I started walking, slowly and bending my ankle as little as possible. My friend caught up with me and offered to have me lean on her, but she's tiny and I didn't want to knock us both down the side of the hill. So I just kept going.
After a while I was able to call the Italian, who was with Punkin at her Saturday morning Mandarin class. Several times in the past I have had to ask for help from my husband in situations like this, and I pride myself on conveying the serious nature of the situation without being panicky. So I simply said "I need you to come and get me, I fell and hurt my ankle and it's bad." And bless his heart he just asked me where to go. I told him how to get to the parking lot and then started walking again.
I didn't make it. I got most of the way back to the car, but the last downward slope was too much, and by then I couldn't put any weight on my left leg at all. I asked my friend to meet my husband and bring him back, and I lay down on the path to wait.
The story will continue...
But let me start at the beginning of my most recent escapade.
Saturday morning several weeks ago I got up nice and early to take Buddy and meet some friends for a hike in the woods. We met at an agreed upon parking lot and drove in one car up into the foothills to a residents only park. We set off in the woods - Buddy and me, and our friends and their grandson. It was a nice cool morning, the scenery was beautiful and the trail was narrow but well defined and easy to follow. The only thing I was concerned about was the abundance of poison oak and how to keep my son out of it.
After about 1/2 mile we had gone up the first hill and were going down the other side. The boys got a burst of energy and started running ahead down the path. I had bad visions of my son tumbling down the side of the hill through the poison oak (those of you who have been reading for a while know that he has a knack for getting into mischief) so I started moving faster, trying to catch up with him.
The next thing I knew I was lying on the ground on my back, clutching my ankle. I have vague memories of feeling my ankle twist, of hearing a pop, but it all happened very fast. Mostly I was aware of being in excruciating pain, just yelling with the pain of it. Really, it hurt quite a lot. Not as much as childbirth (having done that once completely unmedicated) but really, really painful.
I lay on the ground, clutching my ankle and moaning, for a few minutes. I had to fend off my friend who was trying to massage my leg, thinking that I had a leg cramp (I'm afraid I was a little curt, yelling "don't touch it!") Instead I asked him to go after the boys so they wouldn't get too far off by themselves. My other friend helped by reminding me to breathe, which I was quite forgetting to do.
After a few minutes I decided the only thing to do was to start heading back to the car. I asked my friend to check on the kids and started walking, slowly, back the way I had come. It has been pointed out to me that this may not have been the best choice, and in retrospect I probably agree. But at the time the only options I could think of were calling 911 or walking back on my own. I'm afraid I did a very female thing - I decided if I could walk it couldn't be that bad, and calling 911 would involve a lot of fuss and expense. Plus I didn't have cell reception. So I started walking, slowly and bending my ankle as little as possible. My friend caught up with me and offered to have me lean on her, but she's tiny and I didn't want to knock us both down the side of the hill. So I just kept going.
After a while I was able to call the Italian, who was with Punkin at her Saturday morning Mandarin class. Several times in the past I have had to ask for help from my husband in situations like this, and I pride myself on conveying the serious nature of the situation without being panicky. So I simply said "I need you to come and get me, I fell and hurt my ankle and it's bad." And bless his heart he just asked me where to go. I told him how to get to the parking lot and then started walking again.
I didn't make it. I got most of the way back to the car, but the last downward slope was too much, and by then I couldn't put any weight on my left leg at all. I asked my friend to meet my husband and bring him back, and I lay down on the path to wait.
The story will continue...
posted by Marie at 12:54 PM
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