Two-Year Broken Ankleversary

Two years ago today, on the weekend before Valentine's Day, I wanted to treat Brian to his first visit to Pittsburgh. Our first stop was going to be to the Climbing Wall Gym in Pittsburgh to climb some walls. Before we left my parents' house, I remember my dad saying, You'd better be careful! Why don't you take him to the zoo instead? It's nice outside! But the zoo wasn't in the plans. After climbing, I was going to treat Brian to a lunch of pho or take him to Church Brew Works, an old church that was converted into a bar/restaurant. There were a lot of plans for the day and I was excited to surprise Brian. We were going to meet up with my parents later on that evening to go to a comedy show at 7:00.

I had never been to a climbing gym. Brian had experience with climbing and even knew how to belay (belaying is when a person stays at the bottom holding the rope to prevent the person who is climbing from falling from a far distance. They hold the rope and allow the climber to descend the wall slowly and safely).

We arrived to the climbing wall gym and I was stoked. We rented our climbing shoes and headed to the high walls where belaying is mandatory. Because he knew how to belay, I was the first to climb. At this point, I considered myself pretty physically fit. I was at a healthy weight and very strong. I successfully scaled 40 foot walls all the way to the top three times. It wore me out, but I had a great time. We found a kind stranger who would belay Brian and I watched Brian scale the walls effortlessly.

There are no pictures of me climbing because Brian was too busy belaying me. Brian climbed for a little while. While I waited, for fun I climbed a nearby wall but not too far up. Having lost some upper-body strength from already climbing for an hour, I let myself fall on the padded floor. I felt a slight tingle in ankles but thought nothing of it. I walked it off. Brian had his fill of scaling the taller walls, so we went to a different area of the gym where the walls were shorter (~10 ft) and belaying wasn't necessary. Brian and I kind of parted ways and he went to climb some easier climbs. I started up a smaller wall and made it to the top; however, on my climbing back down, I completely depleted my upper-body strength and fell from an embarrassingly short distance (about 5 feet) and landed awkwardly on both feet, then on my ass. Both ankles/feet immediately began to tingle. It might have been painful but a different sensation overtook me. I sat there, I imagine, looking dazed as climbers went about their climbing around me. I sat there for a good minute registering what must have just happened. I didn't feel pain, necessarily, but an otherness. I felt that something wasn't quite right as my brain sent the message to my feet to move but my feet wouldn't move. I began getting hot and I could feel the color draining from my face. I knew I was going into shock. I became immensely thirsty. Thank goodness I'm really good at keeping calm. Brian walked over to me and asked if I fell. I said yes but nothing else. My voice felt thick coming from my throat. My hearing became muffled due to the slight shock. Do you need help up? he asked. I might have said something like Sure, but I don't know if that's going to happen...

He attempted to help me up but I immediately knew that was out of the question and I sat back down. I remember saying, It's like there's a looseness in my right foot and a crackling in my left. Little did I know that I had just diagnosed myself. A gentleman came toward us and asked if I was okay. He and Brian carried me off the gym floor and into the locker room where some people gathered around me. I carefully took off my climbing shoes and I remember some of the climbers gasping and turning their heads at what they saw.

My right foot was obviously dislocated. Both ankles were swollen. Personnel asked me if they should call an ambulance but for some reason I was optimistic and thought that maybe it wasn't so bad. I told the personnel that my boyfriend would drive me to the hospital. Brian and a gentleman gently carried me to the car.

We went to Allegheny General Hospital, the hospital closest to where my parents live (they lived in Arnold, near New Kensington). Little did I know that it was a "bandaid" hospital that didn't deal with serious situations. But at that time, I didn't feel it was so serious. I was laughing and joking with Brian all the way there. I couldn't get ahold of my parents but I finally did. I remember finally being on the phone with my dad and him yelling, "Chris, Sarah's hurt! She's going to the hospital!" That put things into perspective a little bit. I'm hurt.

Brian and I finally got to the hospital and I continued laughing and joking. I told Brian that we should be out of the hospital in time to meet with my parents to go to the comedy show. I was dumb. My parents finally arrived and waited with me and Brian in the waiting room. Should have gone to the zoo! was the first thing my dad said to me. I was finally taken to get x-rays. Turned out, I simply dislocated my right foot. And my left foot had a simple fracture of the fibula and tibia in the ankle. I was told that I'd most likely just wear a cast and walk around with one of those silly scooters. I imagined myself going to work with a scooter and laughed.

I was finally taken into a more private area and they gave me a mild sedative. Some time passed. Things were looking good and I was still optimistic. The sedative helped. Eventually, I was told that they were going to reset my right foot and that it would hurt (it's called a closed reduction). My parents and Brian left the room. I was ready for anything. A nurse and doctor got into position and did the job. It didn't hurt and I remember saying that it felt good. The nurse asked if I was able to feel pain. He was concerned. They made sure that I was okay otherwise because I did sustain my injury during a fall. I could have hurt my neck or back or head. But I continuously told them that I was fine. Nothing hurt, especially considering how I've been handled being carried around and moving my body from one place to the next.

Not long after that, the news got worse. That was the theme of the evening. News getting worse and worse. Looks like I wasn't going to that comedy show (haha). Throughout this whole ordeal I was apologizing to Brian for everything and like the good boyfriend he is, he was fine with everything and only concerned about me. He continued to make me laugh and I continued to make him laugh. Anyway, the bad news was that the x-rays were re-examined and they didn't notice at first that I had also fractured the talus bone in my right foot.

What is the talus bone? Well, as my surgeon put it, it's one of the 10 bones in the body that you do not want to break. It is the keystone of the ankle. It is the bone that the fibula and tibia depend on to allow the foot to do its every-day walking, jumping, and twisting thing.

Shaped like an odd potato chip, it is a bone that is buried deep inside the foot that allows for the foot to move up, down, left, and right. This was bad. I was going to be taken by ambulance to a better hospital in Pittsburgh. I wasn't going to get a cast and be a goofball on a scooter. I was going to need surgery on both ankles.

Because I was a fall "victim", I was high-priority. Brian met up with me at the hospital. My parents went to the comedy show and I'm glad I missed it because it supposedly sucked. Poor Brian. I thought about him during my whole commute to the hospital 30 miles away. Apparently, while he was driving to the other hospital, he got a phone call from a friend he hadn't seen in a while. She was inviting him to go out so they can finally see each other again. I could only imagine how Brian must have felt, driving to a hospital he has never been to in a city he had barely been to when he could be having an innocent night of fun with his good friend. I still feel guilt to this day.

When I arrived at the fancy hospital, I was told more bad news. The surgeon came into the room--a very soft-spoken man who was to-the-point. He told me that I had a very serious injury. He told me that I not only broke a bone that no one should ever break, but I broke the "neck" of the bone--the worst part. I broke the worst part of one of the worst bones to break in the body. Upon learning how I broke my ankles, he knew I was a relatively active woman. I told him that I was a hiker and a runner (at that time, I was running 10+ miles at a time). He told me that I would never walk on uneven terrain comfortably ever again. That I would have difficulty for the rest of my life, regardless of physical therapy. Brian was there. I didn't cry. I was somehow still optimistic. Brian kept me company for a while. At this point, Brian and I had been dating almost a year. We had been talking about moving in together within the year. But that day, he told me that since we were discussing moving in together anyway, that he would move in with me as soon as possible to help me. I was told that I wouldn't be walking without assistance until about October (in eight months). I didn't expect this at all. In fact, the self-conscious Sarah spent hours wondering if this would cause a rift in our relationship. We both loved hiking and being active. I don't want to be dependent on anyone. I don't want to slow anyone down. I don't want to be pathetic in front of everyone. But there he was, committing to a possibly dependent, slow, pathetic woman who loved him. I knew he loved me. He eventually left and went back to my parents for the night.

I was catheterized and not allowed to drink or eat anything due to the fact that I'd be having surgery the next day. I must say, the worst part of this whole experience was being catheterized. I woke up in the middle of the night freaking out because my catheter wasn't allowing the urine to flow. I was severely uncomfortable and too afraid to touch anything. Little did I know that all I had to do was adjust the tube to allow gravity to do its thing. Took long enough for the nurse to respond, too. I was kind of pissed (hahaha, get it?).

The next morning, Brian called me asking where my family kept the towels because he wanted to shower. He was a bit weepy and depressed and didn't want for my parents too see him in that state. My heart sank and I told him where the towels were. He was going to stop by and see me. He stopped at Barnes & Noble and got me magazines and puzzles to keep me busy while I sat in my hospital bed awaiting surgery. It was good to see him. My parents stopped by to see me, too.

My dad took this picture of me and my feet, all wrapped up. I felt bad for my parents. At this point in their lives, one daughter was hospitalized with broken ankles and the other was going through chemotherapy for stage-four cancer. Eventually everyone left. Brian had to drive my car back to Altoona and then drive his car back to where he lived in State College because he had work.

My surgeon, like an actor rehearsing the same scene over and over, came in to inspect me and constantly reminded me of how serious my injury was. I was due to have surgery that day. He was going to do both ankles at once if time allowed.

It was finally time for me to be rolled into the operating room. The hospital was a labyrinth. When I arrived in the OR, a dozen or so people were standing around looking bored. The anesthesiologist spoke with me about the procedure. This would be my first time undergoing anesthesia and I was kind of excited to experience it. But it wasn't like what you see in the movies. I wasn't asked to count backwards from ten or anything. I remember lying there and looking around. I saw a mobile screen nearby that showed x-rays of my ankles. I hadn't yet seen the x-rays. I remember asking if they can show me the x-rays but I never saw them because the anesthesia kicked in. When I came out of it, I learned that both ankles were able to be done at once. I was emotional and cried--a normal reaction to anesthesia. My parents called and asked if they'd like for me to have them visit. I told them to not bother (it was a 35 mile drive for them) because they'd be taking me home the next day.

For the next several days, I camped out on my mom and dad's couch. I acquired a wheelchair and a bedside commode. I remember watching the new Planet Earth 2, mesmerized by mountain goats that were able to jump from cliff to cliff without breaking their ankles. And it was hockey season and I remember feeling a tingling sensation in my ankles when I watched the hockey players bend their ankles in crazy directions. Sometimes I was home alone while at my parents. Out of boredom and already tired of using the bedside commode, I decided the crawl my way up the steps and hoist myself onto the toilet. It may have taken a half hour to do, but I did it.

I eventually went home. My mother got time off work to take care of me until Brian was able to move in. I made myself a nest on my couch.

Silas knew to be gentle and he kept me company, as well. Brian came to visit me on the weekends, slowly moving in some of his stuff. My small apartment was going to be gaining another human and another adorable dog, Cosmo.

I was on Oxycodone (which I barely took because it made me very paranoid and only a few, select friends know the embarrassing details about that), blood thinners that I had to administer with a syringe, and pills to make me poop. I took calcium and Vitamin D for my bones. I also took potassium to prevent muscle spasms since I couldn't move my feet or flex my calves. At this time, I was still using the bedside commode, my dutiful toting away my doody. When Brian visited, he even emptied my commode for me. I bathed in my kitchen, my mother using the sink to wash my hair. That all got old fast, so I became determined to poop, pee, and shower in the bathroom by myself. It may have taken forever, but I did it. By the time Brian moved in, I was independent in those respects.

I must admit, everyone close to me was fantastic. My mother, who has a bad shoulder, took me out and about quite a bit. We went to movies and to Barnes & Noble. She would lift and hoist my wheelchair into the trunk by herself. Brian took me on little outings.

This is us at The Clay Cup (a local cafe).

This is our outing to Chimney Rocks where I got some exercise wheeling myself around the park. He took me out to eat, out to go shopping, and many other things.

My friend Maddie came and picked me up one evening and took me to a local bar to get wings.

My friend Mandi who lives in the apartment above me came down to visit. She had just undergone surgery on her arm so we were cripples together.

My friend Katie, who is a nurse, came by to fix up the bandages around my feet. I was falling apart like an old stuffed animal and she came and did a great Build-a-Bear job on my feet. I appreciated it.

It was finally time for me to get casts on my feet. My dad took me to Pittsburgh to have the procedure done. It would be my first time seeing my feet/ankles since the surgery.

Gross, huh? Next it was time for the casts. Since it was almost spring, I decided to be festive with the colors. It was during this appointment that I also saw my x-rays for the first time.

My left ankle is pretty much made of metal.

And my right foot is made of pain and discomfort. Three pins and a screw. After the swelling went down, the pins were really beginning to poke at the skin on the top of my foot and it was extremely painful. The pins were eventually removed in another surgery, so now I just have the pin. Note: this is the foot that will be giving me grief the rest of my life.

By this time, Brian had moved in with me. He had it worked out that he could work on-site in State College for half the day and then come home to be with me for the rest of his shift. He was willing to drop me off at Barnes & Noble so I can browse books and enjoy time outside the apartment. Eventually, though, I became quite independent and it wasn't necessary for him to come home for half days anymore.

Weeks later, after being in a wheelchair for about two months, the casts came off and the stitches came out. Note that my right foot was curved, still.

I was given a pair of moon boots and told that I could use a walker. The walker lasted one day. It was a joke and very cumbersome. So, I used crutches. At this point, I also began driving even though I wasn't allowed. I took off my right boot to drive. I was also given the okay to start physical therapy which was a joke. They didn't know what to do with me. They were doing very mundane, dumb things with my feet that weren't helpful at all. And at $25 bucks a pop, I quit. (Later, I tried a new physical therapy place that disappointed me even more. Then I tried another place again about a year later and they didn't help either. They told me that my right foot was the worst foot they had ever worked on).

My left ankle healed faster than my right foot, but I was finally up and walking with just one crutch and one boot!

At this point, I was unstoppable. I began hiking again by introducing my friend Mandi to geocaching.

Mandi geocaching for the first time.

I went back to work in April when I was able to walk with crutches. What did I do for almost three months of no work? I watched all of "Dexter" and "How I Met Your Mother" on Netflix. Yup.

Brian knew I was down quite a bit due to my situation, so he planned a surprise trip to Frankenmuth, Michigan with our friends for the "Dog Bowl" and Hot Air Balloon Festival.

Don't be fooled. My crutches were laying in the grass. I walked about 9 miles in crutches that day.

Come June, I was walking unassisted, four months ahead of schedule. I joined a gym where there was a pool so I could do some low-impact exercise. That is also why I got back into cycling/mountain biking. I missed going fast outside.

I craved adventure but knew my limitations still. That July, I went on a solo road-trip. One of my hobbies is hiking up the highest mountains in each state (it's called "high-pointing"). So, I decided that I would go "hike" the highest points in some very lame states with easy hillsides as their elevations. On the trip, I visited the high-points of Ohio, Indiana, and Kentucky. I also stopped in Virginia to do some camping and kayaking.

This is me at Campbell Hill, the highest (and very windy) point of Ohio. First high-point I ever visited in a dress.

The adventures didn't stop there. In September of that same year, Brian and I went up to Vermont to hike up Camel's Hump mountain, the third-highest mountain in Vermont.

It took me a long time and I was very embarrassed with myself, but Brian kept my spirits up. I climbed up a mountain a month before I was due to walk unassisted.

The next year (2018) in July, I summited the highest mountain in Virginia, Mt. Rogers, with my friend Maddie.

We had also hiked up Old Rag Mountain in Shenandoah National Park.

Then in September, Brian and I summited the highest mountains in Massachusetts and Connecticut.

Then a year to the day I summited Camel's Hump, I ran my first 10k trail race with Maddie.

So, how am I doing now? Pretty well. I'm active but my right foot is a constant burden. My right foot's range of motion is actually quite motionless. I experience pain and stiffness everyday. If I do anything too strenuous, I'm certainly paying for it that evening and maybe the next day. A lot of TLC is involved to keep my foot happy. My left ankle is doing great; I think it's unbreakable, actually. However, when I run, I can feel all that metal's rigidness and it sometimes causes an ache in my calf. Speaking of calves:

This picture was taken a little over a week ago. Notice the difference in sizes. Because the range of motion in my right foot sucks, it doesn't allow for my calf to stretch and extend as much as it should. I compromise when I walk. However, I always try to walk mindfully by putting my right foot flat on the ground. Going up and down steps, I'm often doing it on the ball of my right foot rather than flat-footed. I'm sure I sometimes perplex my co-workers who may see me limping on one day and walking effortlessly the next. If I sit for a long enough time, my right foot stiffens up and I have to walk around to "lube it up" and get it moving again the way it needs to. Sometimes just the act of putting on good shoes helps me walk better and takes away some pain. I favor the outside of my right foot when I walk which makes walking in snow torturous. But I do it anyway.

I get depressed about my right foot quite a bit. Going from 10+ mile runs to painful, uneven, clumsy 3 mile runs is depressing. I'm actually training for a half-marathon trail run that will be taking place in April. It will be the most strenuous thing I'll do since breaking my ankles.

People ask me if I have arthritis and I don't know. I just know I have pain and discomfort. Maybe tendonitis. I know I'm a good 25 pounds or so heavier because it has changed my lifestyle so much. I'm still active, though. I like to think that I'm pretty healthy and in shape, considering. It's still a work in progress.

And for those of you who want to see the scars, here you go. These pictures were taken today. FYI I had incisions on both sides of my ankles.

Left ankle, inside.

Right ankle, outside (that's a Charles Bukowski tattoo).

Left ankle, outside.

Right ankle, inside.