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I wouldn’t consider myself a Why Me? kind of person. I feel like I’ve always been pretty conscious and grateful of my privileged life.

But seriously WHAT THE HELL, Universe?

Last year leading in to my birthday I was a close contact to someone with COVID and I ended up alone on my birthday. Celebratory dinner rescheduled for two weeks. Last summer, I made the choice (mistake?) to visit a childhood friend in GA right before heading to the first UPAA symposium as a board member. I got COVID from one of her daughters and could not attend a symposium that I had been looking forward to for years. The first in-person event for this group since the pandemic. Couldn’t go. Years of me being uber careful and managing to dodge it and I get it THEN?!

I’m still mad about that if I’m honest.

Back to present day, the next six weeks were to be big ones. It is the busiest time of year at work with commencement coming. I have more senior portrait session clients through Cydney Scott Photography this year than any season prior. I really love doing those sessions. The president of BU is retiring and his office asked me, specifically, to photograph his retirement party. And between senior week events, end-of-year celebrations, and commencement activities, it’s the most stressful, most satisfying time of year.

And in exactly six weeks, I leave for ten days in Portugal with friends, relaxing after that big end-of-year push.

Yesterday was a beautiful day in Boston. I left the office to wander campus looking for beauty shots. I was walking around the outside our newest building on campus. I knew there were benches in the back of the building, so I turned to my right to follow the concrete walkway that leads to it.

What I didn’t notice was that where I thought there was a sidewalk-type path was actually a step. Only part of my left foot made contact with the step. All my weight went down on my left foot, which was now bent at the ankle and on it’s way down to the next step. Now all my weight was on the side of my foot. I felt (and heard?) a crunch. I had nothing to hold on to. No way to regain balance. I went down, thankfully not hurting myself or the expensive gear I had on me further.

I felt pain in the ankle when I got up, but told myself I was probably fine and would walk on it for a bit to assess. It didn’t swell. It didn’t bruise, but the further I walked the more uncomfortable it got. So, I got back in my car and found my way to a drop-in clinic to have it assessed.

I was pretty sure it wasn’t broken, because the last time I broke something, riding in a car was excruciating. Every bump was white-knuckle inducing. Lawrence Memorial’s clinic was open and empty, so it took them about an hour and 45 minutes to take me in, assess, x-ray and diagnose.

I was pissed already because I had to cancel plans for an early dinner with Shannon, which I was really looking forward to. So as 5PM passed and 6PM approached, I was also hungry! My sugars were on the low side, and I ate the swedish fish gummies I use for glucose correction. They didn’t help much. Here is where I really had to suck up my pride and ask for help, and it made me mad inside.

I called over George, a clinic employee, and asked for juice or a snack. Told him I was Type one. He bustled off and came back with OJ and graham crackers. I tried not to get emotional; being in a hospital setting and being given graham crackers brought me back to my days of being first diagnosed at age 21, and I didn’t like the way it made me feel.

It made me feel like a patient. A patient who needed help from others.

The physician’s assistant came to me, showed me my x-ray, and pointed out the broken bone in my foot. Officially, it’s a “thin minimally displaced osseous fragment along the dorsal navicular likely representing avulsion-fracture.” I leave it to you to google that if you wanna know how messed up this situation is. Oh and I have a mild tailor’s bunion, too, the paperwork says. They could have left that out. I don’t need more crap.

My brother met me at home afterwards. I gave him my keys and he went to my basement to get the crutches I own while I sat at the back of my car. The foot is non-weight bearing, so I’m dependant on the crutches. I hoped I could get out of the car and hobble my way in on my own, but quickly realized I just couldn’t and I’d have to wait for Christopher to get to me and help.

Last night I didn’t sleep until about 2AM. I am stressed about how to deal with my senior session clients. Stressed about the work responsibilities I may not be able to help with now. Stressed about the work responsibilities I definitely can’t do now. Heartbroken over what I’ll miss. Scared about how long this will take (I made the mistake of googling it and it says it can take up to twelve weeks for this kind of break to heal). Please let me heal without surgical intervention.

Sad about the short-term; it was hard to make coffee this morning, challenging to feed the dog, hard to get to the bathroom on the second floor, I don’t actually know what I’ll do about lunch today, and I joined a UPAA zoom meeting and had to leave because I’m too emotional right now to talk to people.

And this weekend. This weekend, Meg was coming to visit me. Every time Meg and I have made plans to get together over the past, what, years?! someone’s gotten COVID and we’ve had to cancel. I had all sorts of fun plans for us. A visit to a tea room, Peabody Essex Museum, a hike at Maudslay State Park.

She is an angel and has offered to come anyway. I am grateful, as well as worried I may be shit company and possible a bit smelly.

I had ordered myself a pizza as I was leaving the clinic, knowing that fixing a meal would be hard. I sat on my couch when I finally got around to eating, felt forlorn and literally said out loud “and my pizza is cold!” and then began to cry. And then I laughed at my crying. Then I laughed while crying.

I’m spending this morning on the phone with workers comp stuff and an a bit optimistic that I may be able to still do some work from home. I’m very grateful that the pain is not worse. Grateful that the injury wasn’t worse. But still, I am being a big crybaby about the unfairness. For someone who is, I think, too careful much of the time, this feels pretty unfair, and I’m struggling to find my inner Pollyanna about it this round of How Did This Happen?