There I was this weekend, getting all cocky about all the cool things I’m doing. I do aerial yoga. I won Book of Mormon tickets. I play soccer. But when one doesn’t sit on the couch, watching “Friends” reruns all evening, she opens herself up to injury.
I’ve gone for emergency care twice since I got to New York, and yesterday I hurt myself again. Fun fact: Not once in 11 years in Seattle did I have to find an emergency room or urgent care.
My soccer team (called Blue Barracudas or Gotham Asylum, depending on who you ask) was playing a fierce team, the Ninjas. It’s rumored the Ninjas are the best in the league and have been playing together for years. The Gotham Barracudas are a rag-tag team of people who just met one another eight days ago, for our first game.
Yesterday, being Father’s Day, lots of people were unable to attend the game, so we had no subs. No backups. Everyone had to play the entire game, or we had to forfeit.
So I was proud of myself when a scrappy Ninja got the ball, and I ran right up to her to challenge her for it. I got it away from her, and she gave me a shove – I don’t think it was intentional. She was trying to catch her balance. I landed funny on my ankle, but caught myself before I fell (thanks to my awesome core workouts). I grimaced in pain as I gave my ankle a couple test steps to make sure I could walk. It hurt, but I could support my weight. I sucked it up and finished the game. Then I walked the 12 minutes from Octagon Field to the F train with my team.
When I got home, I took off my shoes and socks, and saw that the ankle was swollen. Damn! I elevated it and put ice on it while I googled, “twisted ankle recovery time.” Internet says the recovery time is quicker if you rest it rather than playing 30 minutes of soccer after the injury.
So today I stayed home and worked on the nearly worthless company laptop I have at home in case of emergency. It was a frustrating experience to say the least. But my boss told me to sign off after handoff and rest. So I was done with my day at 12:30, which would have been awesome if I could walk. Instead I called my sister whining, read a book, took a short nap, took pictures of my cat, watched “Ellen” and practiced my Spanish.
My ankle is still a bit swollen, but it feels stronger. Perhaps I can slowly restart my awesomeness tomorrow.
One of the girls on my soccer team is a patient advocate at my hospital (you know, where I’ve been twice). I told her she’s my new emergency contact person.
I’m a journalist, content strategist, doting auntie, amateur bobsledder, fitness enthusiast, and wannabe health nut (who loves chocolate and pizza too much to fully commit). I don't want you to think my life is perfect. It's not.