I am an idiot. I managed to fall and sprain my ankle stepping through a door I've walked through thousands of times before.
It's Saturday, roughly 4pm. We're getting ready to head off to a birthday party for an old and ear friend of mine. The night before I baked 6 dozen mini cornbread muffins (I know you're shocked that I baked, but I can't really only make cornbread, and it's my own recipe). The birthday boy request my hot pink bathing suit, and despite the fact that I think I look like a beached whale in a bathing suit, I'd decided I'd put on my XL big girl panties and just get over it. I'd even found one of the sarongs he gave me all those years ago (1999) that matched the suit. (hey, if I'm going to look like a beached whale, at least I can tastefully cover up the worst bits when out of the water)
I'm packed and ready to roll, Ed's taking care of some last minute stuff. He suggests that we encourage the dogs to go potty before we crate them for the evening. So I decide to take care of it. "Who wants to go potty? Let's go potty!" as I head for the back yard. Cue two large black dogs racing each other for the dog door. I step into the garage - no problem. I open the door to the back yard - no problem. I step through the door - problem.
I honestly have no idea what happened, other than the obvious. Somehow, I stepped funny and my right foot supinated and turned under me and down I went. I heard some lovely pops and felt searing pain. I started screaming. Mr Empathetic (*sarcasm*) comes out. "What's wrong!?" And it pretty much went down hill from there. (like it's not obvious I've done something to my foot considering I'm clutching it and crying/screaming)
It's the same ankle I dislocated when I was 14. I've had problems with it ever since.
I was furious that we missed the party. Angry at myself. I'm still angry.
I'm on the mend, and thanks to my local BFF who is also a medic, I'm mending quickly. He came by that night to look at it. He yelled at me for not doing enough for it, and then iced it (god damn that was cold!) and wrapped it (he's not that gentle). I swear, neither of the men in my life are very empathetic. He took me to the Dr on Monday, and the Dr was amused that I have my own personal medic. He stopped by last night and looked at it again. He's pleased with my progress.
Still, I'm an idiot. And I hate my ankle.