Day 11: Worst memory

Okay, so yesterday just sort of passed in a blur, and before I knew it, it was past midnight. And for that reason, today will be two posts.

I’ve been pondering what my worst memory might be. Is it when my grandfather’s funeral, when I led my shaking grandmother down the aisle? Or maybe when I found out my parents were getting divorced and my dad moving three hours away? Perhaps the night my ex and I broke up, at 3am on a work night, and he had to drive me back to my place, where I felt very alone in a foreign country.

There are a lot of possibilities, really. And a lot of them are bad memories. I’m not really sure what constitutes a worst memory, but I’m going to go with the thing that has probably had the most repercussions.

The time I broke my leg.

It was a few years ago now, and I had been visiting my dad for New Year’s and was going to drive back to my home town (the aforementioned three hour drive). The weather wasn’t good, and the roads were very wet and messy, and I soon discovered that my windshield washer fluids were out, so I stopped by a gas station maybe 45 minutes into the drive to clean the windows.

As I walked back to the car after putting the window cleaning tool back in its little shed, I slipped on a patch of ice and went straight down. Onto my own leg. I heard a snap. The memory of that sound still haunts me. At first I didn’t realise what had happened, but quickly realised I couldn’t even sit up without a lot of pain. So I was lying there, on the ground.. on the ice.

Fortunately someone who was fueling their car eventually realised that I wasn’t moving and asked if I was okay. I said I wasn’t, and they ended up calling for an ambulance. My dog was in the car waiting for me, but they managed to get my mobile phone from inside without him leaping out – and the car keys. They dropped those off with an employee at the gas station, and I could call my mom to tell her what had happened as I waited for the ambulance.

She called my dad, and they agreed for him to pick up my dog and car (since it was much closer for him), and meet me at the hospital.

The ambulance personnel actually thought my ankle was just twisted at first, but at the hospital the x-rays showed that I’d managed to break both bones in my lower leg. The thick bone the most though. But they nailed it all back together. For those who like x-rays, you can see the pre-op one here and the post-op one here.

The screws and stuff on the small bone ended up chafing or something. I was in pain every time I walked for 15 months before they finally took them out. The ones on the outer, bigger bone are still there though.

Walking with pain for 15 months screwed up my back and hips, and I am still in pain if I walk for too long. Still, I’m glad I had that second surgery, because it was a lot worse before. I sometimes wonder if the broken leg and subsequent months of pain is what caused my fibromyalgia. I’ve always been sensitive to pain, but not like I am these days.

I’m still terrified of falling and breaking something. The sound of the bone snapping is definitely one of my worst memories.

My dark "emo"-cast.

My dark “emo”-cast.

This post is part of the 30 Day Challenge.


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