On Friday night, I was going to put my dishes in the dishwasher and head to bed. I stepped from the carpet of the living room onto the tile of the kitchen floor and the next thing I knew, I was on the floor on my ass with a broken glass in my hand. I sat there in total shock and pain as my husband cleaned up the broken glass and asked me if I was okay. I ended up hobbling to bed. He brought me ice and I put a compression sock on, thinking I'd probably sprained my ankle and would deal with it in the morning. It didn't hurt that bad at the time. I fell asleep with the ice on my leg.

The next morning, I could feel the weight of the blanket as I lay in bed. I really had to pee. I could tell none of the next steps were going to go well. I couldn't put any weight at all on my leg, so I hopped to the bathroom, took care of business, brushed my teeth, put on deoderant and some sweats and took the stairs on my butt, toddler-style. Then I called for my husband to drive me to urgent care. As we were trying to get in the car, he wanted me to lean on him but that hurt too bad. As we drove, he said if it was just a sprain, leaning on him wouldn't have been an issue. I started to get worried.

At urgent care they took some X-rays and told me I'd broken my fibula. They gave me a splint and some crutches and told me to make an appointment with an ortho doc. Today I went to a walk-in ortho clinic and got a stress X-ray, which is when the doctor grabs your broken bones and yanks your foot toward your ankle to see how big the separation between the bones is. The first time didn't work, but the second time I felt something go POP. It is sort of befuddling to me how I didn't scream when this happened because when I got the initial X-rays on Saturday morning, I was weeping like a baby every time the slightest bit of muscle would slide over the bone where it was broken. All day Saturday and Sunday I felt like I had severe menstrual cramps in my calf bones and popped hydrocodone every six hours like a boss. This morning, though, I woke up, felt okay, took two Advil and didn't kill the doctor when she grabbed my broken bone and squeezed. Funny how the human body works, eh?

She came back and drew a picture on the paper of the table and showed me if you break your leg HERE, everything's hunky-dory, and if you break your leg HERE, you definitely need surgery, but if you break your leg HERE (where I broke my leg), well, it's debatable. Then she told me after the bone-popping thing she'd be shocked if I didn't need surgery, here's my partner's card.

I have an appointment with the surgeon next Thursday, on New Year's Eve. The anticipated recovery time from surgery is three months. It's my driving leg, and my husband is supposed to be traveling for work almost 100% in the month of January, and who knows how much in February and March, when I may or may not be able to drive.

A lot has happened since Friday.

Part of me is absolutely terrified because one way I manage my anxiety is to exercise. Another part of me is terrified I'll gain a bunch of weight and trigger my eating disorder. Still another part of me is already feeling claustrophobic because I can't drive anywhere by myself or run out for milk or take my daughter to school. A fourth Type A part of me is annoyed because I'm the one who constantly picks up the piles around the house and I can't carry so much as a coffee cup and if this house turns into a set from Hoarder's I'm going to open a can of whoop-ass. But then another part of me knows I can't because my husband and daughter have to take care of me for who knows how long and that is a pain in the ass no matter how well-meaning you are.

So there's all that.

Then on the way out of the doctor's office we came upon a little old lady with a portable oxygen tank. She asked if we could please drive her to her car because she'd gone Christmas shopping that day and her husband passed a way a year and a half ago and she'd tired herself out. Of course we drove her to her car and my husband walked her to the door and I stuffed my broken leg and my crutches in the car and gave myself another firm lecture in perspective.

And yes, this isn't the Crisis Olympics, but I know quite a few people who have to have surgery in the next few weeks, so I'm definitely not alone in that. We all have our shit.

I'm going to try to view this as an opportunity to not freak out and prove to myself things can go wrong without my carefully constructed world going to hell in a hand basket. But it's hard.

Like really hard.

I found myself being super happy I went to the gym on Friday because it's going to be who knows how long before I can walk again. Life changes, just like that.