We Got Work To Do

 This April it was ten years since I broke my foot off of my leg.  That's graphic, I know, but that's what happened.  It's actually called an ankle fracture with enclosed dislocation and tibia/fibia break, but that's more difficult to say.

Two plates and eight screws, two months bedrest, three casts, two months in a wheelchair, and almost a year of rehab therapy later, I am back to 97%.  Actually, I'm back to 91% as deemed by the state, who proclaimed me (hilariously) 9% disabled.

There are few residual effects but none that a person who is not me would notice.  I worked really, really hard to not have a limp, I don't use a cane.  I'm not on narcotics, even though they said I would be for the remainder of my life. (there are days, lemme tell you)  

However, there are a few things I can't do.  Hiking a steep grade, standing for prolonged times on concrete floors, sitting for prolonged periods at a ninety-degree, running.  I can jog a few steps then nope.

Sidebar:  There are a few things I distinctly remember separate from the few things that I can't do:

• The paramedic announcing "That's not supposed to look like that" upon arriving; making me laugh as I was laying on the floor.
• Thinking Oh SO WRONGLY that a "Break is better than a sprain" and the doctor being surprised that I was surprised when he mentioned surgery.
• For years I couldn't remember what Kevin said to make me laugh as my leg was being reset in the E.R.  I finally remembered a while ago:  As the ortho doctor explained he was going to reset my leg, he said "I'm sorry, this is going to hurt when I put it in."  My husband dropped a "That's What She Said" joke.  I remember busting out laughing and the doctor looking at both of us like we were crazy.
• I actually didn't mind the wheelchair at all.  It was kind of fun in the grocery store but that adventure was a real test of our marriage, let me tell you.  Kevin went by himself after that, lol.

The point of this whole post is that I have been a Whole Mood since the Court Decision. In the past, when Big Moments happen, I will text/message/email my friends and we commiserate.  With this though, I just didn't have the energy.  I was disabled, if you will, with disappointment and frustration.

And that's still not quite the point. Because of course not.

Yesterday I decided to do something that I "can't" do.  There is a trail five minutes from the house.  It is way off the beaten path and I've wanted to go on it for a long while.  The issue is that the first third of it is an uphill hike. I asked two people who've used that trail how bad the beginning of it was and they agreed that it would be rough for me but totally worth it once we reached the top. Here is the site description:

From the trailhead, the route makes a quick, moderate climb, gaining about 300 feet in elevation over 0.3 mile before easing and connecting with the loop trail where you’ll get your first peek at tree-ringed lake.

I woke up in a F&*k It mood, packed up Lucy and my cane, and off we went.  Parking is up on a high hill and from there the trail starts off immediately into the forest. There is no gentle introduction to this trail.  "Moderate" is accurate.  Switchbacks with small flat spots to enjoy the view catch your breath, gaining elevation and pitch the higher the trail travelled.  I was very glad that I had the forethought to bring my cane.  It provided not only a method of balance and rest but also a sense of security.  

Still, whew, I regretted my decision multiple times. The amount of times that I questioned my decision-making processes are numerous.

As promised, once you reach the top and spot the lake: so worth it.  

There is a pretty and easy trail that loops around.  Because it was our first time, unfortunately we only went about halfway around, which was still 1.5 miles total by the time we returned to the truck.  Relatively, that's not far but it is for me and for a 10-year-old puppy.

Going back down was both easier and harder.  One: going down is easier on the respiratory and muscle systems.  Two: the ability to plant (and feel) both of your feet going down steep-ish trails seems important.  Lucy was really good at waiting while I made my way around the hairpins and steeper parts. I didn't take many photos because of the whole trying not to fall thing.

But I did meet a few people along the trail; one of whom was very admiring and appreciative of Lucy's Pride collar. Getting that collar for her was such a little gesture yet has gained us appreciation from strangers quite often.

Lucy says "Be an ally"

So, we've chatted about broken legs, hiking, and being an ally.  What in the world of Give A Mouse A Cookie is my point?

We can do hard things.  If I can go hike the side of a mountain that I'm not supposed to be able to do.  If I can subtly support our LGBTQ+ citizens with a Pride collar.  If I can rest for one day and wake up with an attitude the next.  We can do hard things.

Ten years ago my life was altered and it felt like I was starting over.  Hopefully ten years from now, we will have done hard things and made lives better for ourselves and the people around us.

We gotta do hard things.  Get up.  Show up. We got work to do.