I sprained my foot Saturday evening, in a foolish act of stumbling off a sidewalk while trying to say good-bye to a friend.
Thus I’ve spent the last three days on the large red couch in my living room, butt-scooting upstairs for the restroom, asking my roommates to carry my food from kitchen to couch, calling friends to come keep me company.
This is ridiculous, spews from my lips approximately 15 times a day.
Some people ask why I’ve not visited the doctor. Because it’s not worth my time. My foot is healing, I can tell, I know my body, this is a process. Rest. Ice. Compression. Elevation. [Rice] I’ve got it down pat.
I called my roommate from the top of the stairs, as I thump-thumped my way down. Telling her I’d need help in just a moment. When I arrived, she called, “What do you need? Here’s your computer!” And scurried into the room.
Later, I piled a list of home remedies on the counter, calling to my other roommate to be my lady’s made and gasped and hopped back into the other room.
That evening, I rang a friend and asked for company. She came. Next morning, I woke up and crawled to the couch after both roommates were gone for the day. Disaster. I had to call a new-neighbor-becoming-my-friend to please, please for the love of kindness – bring me some ibuprofen. She brought 30 pills 10 minutes later.
In a whiny mood, I told the world of facebook how I NEEDED company come the third day: How can I even feed myself?
Everyone in another country/county/state offered me loving support. I NEEDED someone close by.
Next morning, I woke up and gently touched the floor with my less-swollen toes. No shooting pain! I could hobble. I could limp. No more monkey jumps!!
Perhaps I’d spoken too soon. Perhaps I was just whining. Perhaps I’m a wimp. Perhaps. Or perhaps I just needed to acknowledge my own limitations.
A friend called at noon to ask what I needed, “You said you needed help. What do you need?”
Nothing, really – just company. She came, she brought her sisters, and we had a nail painting tea party while laughing over the ridiculous junk mail I’d received that day.
I went to dinner, hobbling up to the table and asking for an extra chair.
By the end of dinner two friends called and asked me about my status. “Do you need groceries? Do you want me to bring food? How are you feeling?”
Maybe I’m just a wimp. Maybe I needed this ridiculous disaster to remind my isolating-self that people, all unrelated and unknown to one another, do surround me. I don’t have a community like most – mine don’t come from my certain church, my sports team, my school. Everyone’s an individual I’ve connected to and when I over-exert my weary tendons with vicious twists jerking down from my over-stimulated gray matter, they remind me I am not alone.