Reflections on the broken ankle

This weekend marked 9 weeks since I broke my ankle in a freak, and slightly ridiculous, volleyball accident. I re-read my post of 6th March (here) and found my mood to be, on the whole, anxious and negative.

So what was the reality?

I sulked and licked my wounds for a few days (not literally, that would be both weird and probably impossible!). Actually I have noticed this to be something of a pattern for me. For example, recently I have been looking for work. I am happy to say that I am now back in the workplace, but before that happened I received a couple of knock backs from interviews or people just not getting back to me. Again, in the immediate aftermath of the setback I was a little down and didn’t really want to talk to anyone.

The epiphany here is that I think I’ve realised that’s OK. I have recognised that the way I deal with less than positive situations is to initially withdraw and feel a bit sorry for myself. If I try to force a brighter outlook before I’m ready it invariably doesn’t work out. I suppose on some level it is a similar process to grieving. I have a certain image in my head, or routine, and that is interrupted or taken away and I have to take the time to adjust to that.

In the case of my broken ankle, once I was ready I began to rationalise. Yes getting around was going to be more difficult but not impossible. I couldn’t go play sports or train and so I found other focuses for my attention. I made plans of action and followed them through. I arranged to see friends to maintain that social contact that my injury would prevent me from getting in some areas.

And the truth is it wasn’t as bad as I imagined it would be. Imagine that. The reality not being as bad as the thought. Who knew? (Oh yeah, just about every therapist I’ve EVER seen!).

Tomorrow I will be 3 weeks out of my protective boot. I am still hobbling a little but I am on the right track to recovery. Life has changed again because of my new job, but a good deal of normality is returning too!

Full Stop

On Sunday I broke my ankle whilst playing volleyball.

I don’t even really remember how I did it. I just know that suddenly I felt a lot of pain in my leg and immediately knew I couldn’t play on. I hobbled around for the rest of the day before going to hospital on Monday to get an x-ray and confirmation that, yes, I had broken the distal fibula. I’m lucky in the sense that it was a ‘good’ break and so I won’t require any surgery. I have been sent away with this charming big black boot and some crutches with a timeframe of around 6-8 weeks to heal, and 2-3 months for recovery.

As a rule I try to stay positive in the face of any struggles that I have. I may not succeed today, but I will keep trying and tomorrow is another day. This one feels different though.

I have tried to put the positive spin on it; ‘perhaps this is the signal I needed to slow down and diversify my interests’, ‘maybe I can enjoy relaxing’.

But today, I am really struggling.

With a history of agoraphobia in my teens – being housebound from ages 15-20, being forced to stay inside has some echoes of the past that I don’t want to return to. The wishing the days away. The hopelessness. Even when I don’t have to leave the house all day, I still force myself out even just for five minutes so that I’ve been out.

Additionally, exercise and just generally moving around is such an important tool for my mental wellbeing, and now that has been somewhat taken away from me. It’s a difficult adjustment. The world is still going on around me. My circuit training class continues, as do my volleyball buddies. So not only do I miss out on the physical activity, but also an essential social contact.

I am also reliant on people. I don’t like having my independence taken away from me. Having to think twice about things I took for granted just days ago. Stupid things like making a cup of tea, but being unable to carry it through from the kitchen on my crutches. I feel helpless. I fell in the bathroom yesterday and have a gash on my shoulder to show for it.

I have tried to keep myself somewhat busy thus far, and I realise my day yesterday was probably too much too soon. I went into my local Mind for some voluntary work and did some ‘walking’ around town on my crutches. The physical toll it took on me, particularly my hands (from the crutches) and my good leg, and the muscular pain it has left me with today is more than I could have imagined.

And so this has all contributed to me feeling rather down and a little overwhelmed that I consider I am not even a week out from the break.

OK. Moan over. I have read my discharge notes properly today and I have some exercises to do 3-4 times a day to get movement back into the ankle and I will start those. My wife is taking me out in the car later to get fish and chips. It’s time to start the road to recovery and take myself of this highway of self-pity!

For me, this has all to do with mindset. I have had an unlucky accident. One cannot legislate for this type of thing. It’s one of those wonderful ‘out of our control’ things. What is in my control is how I deal with it. Part of this, I suppose, is thinking in terms of the days ahead rather than considering the weeks I will be in this position. It’s about tackling each obstacle as it presents itself. It’s about digging deep into my toolbox of resourcefulness and overcoming. I have done it before and I must do it again!