Learning to Walk

I was so awesome. Leather jacket, Hyper-Colored shirt, Fur-Rondy Pin, Bangs, Black Jeans. Add the crutches, and it doesn't get much better! 

It was Saturday, February 1, 1992 . . . the day before my 12th birthday. It was the day before I would be entering Young Women's. I was so excited to go to my very first Young Men and Young Women activity. It was going to be really special . . . sledding with my friends, a birthday party in the evening, interacting with boys, fun times. 

Arctic Valley 

We drove up to Arctic Valley Ski area, in Alaska. It was an insane sledding hill (a ski hill, actually), it was what seemed like miles long. You would just keep going down, and down, and down some more. The leaders would drive us to the top in their trucks, and there was a bunch of leaders gathered at the bottom of the hill, with hot coco, and blankets. 

I got in a long sled with my friends, Lisa Weaver, and Jodie Holba. I was dangerously placed in the front of the sled. We were zipping down the mountain, having a blast. Then suddenly, the snow turned to ice, and the entire hill was glazed, and hard. We started going too fast, there were three of us in one sled, which was stupid. And then came a bump in the road. A big bump. We headed straight for it. The bump launched us into the air, my feet flew out of the sled and slammed straight into the bump, and we were spilled out onto the frozen ground. 

This is not me, but you get the idea

Everything went black. Suddenly the world of fun and teenage-invincibility was taken from me, and I felt excruciating pain. Everything went from super-speed to slow-motion. My friends were lying on the ground laughing hysterically, but I laid there, on my face, silent, in the dark. I tried to gather my thoughts to figure out what was going on. All I knew was pain. I hurt. Something was very wrong. 

As soon as Jodie and Lisa figured out I was not moving they rushed over to help. I came to, and was able to turn myself around. I felt pain all over, but it seemed to be radiating from my ankle. With the help of my friends I tried to stand . . . it was impossible. We still had a ways to go down the mountain. I slid down the hill on my backside, and when we got closer to the bottom my friends helped me hobble over to an adult leader. 

He assessed my ankle which was double in size and purple, and he determined it was "just sprained." I started shaking uncontrollably. I was loaded into the back of a suburban, and driven home. 

It was my last day of being 11, and I got to spend the rest of the day on the couch at home. I remember we were having steak for dinner, and the smell made me nauseas instead of hungry. I had my leg propped-up with ice, but I was still shaking uncontrollably. It hurt. My body was in shock. I knew something was wrong. I knew in that moment on the couch, that I was not going to be the same carefree girl that I had been. 

My parents decided to take me to the Emergency Room. I was really scared to be there. After an  X-Ray it was determined that it was not a simple sprain -- it was broken, in a bad way. I had cracked the growth plate on my left ankle. 

I was devastated. I was a very active young person, and I was in the middle of playing Volleyball, and other sports. All of that was put on hold. My life -- my junior high life -- turned from fun, into pain. I cried as I sat on the hospital bed. It was dark there. I felt a darkness descend upon me. I was suddenly full of fear, worry, and questions. 

I can remember feeling very sorry for myself. When I got home from the emergency room I can remember asking my mom, "Why me? Why did this have to happen?" She answered, wisely, "We can never ask why me?" I don't remember exactly what else she said, but something to the effect of, things happen and we just have to deal with it. And that became a new mantra of mine, "Deal with it!" I had a poster of those words on my bedroom wall. 

I remember sitting in the doctor's office, with my mother, discussing surgery. The doctor said, if I did not have surgery then it was likely my leg would not grow properly, since my growth plate was broken. I remember saying I was willing to take the risk -- but my mother wasn't. She signed me up for the surgery plan, and I was mad at her for it. (Don't worry I have forgiven her.) ;-) 

Look at all that crazy snow! 

The day of the surgery I was terrified. I had to wait for what seemed like hours. And then they loaded me on a hospital bed, put a mask over my face, and asked me to count to 10. 1, 2, 3 . . . Zzzzzzzzz. I was out. They cut open my ankle, and put huge pins in my growth plate. The next thing I knew I was screaming, and thrashing around in severe pain. I was coming off of the anesthesia, and it was awful. I finally calmed down, and I was very aware for the rest of my miserable experience. I stayed overnight, and my mom stayed with me. I was hating my 12 year old life, so far. 

I missed a lot of school. I became a total slug, and I spent a lot of time on the couch watching quality T.V. like Saved by the Bell. My active body became inactive. Moving around was difficult on crutches. It was especially hard in Alaska, in the snow. 

Mears Junior High. Anchorage, Alaska

I can still vividly remember walking into Mears Junior High. I would have to put the spikes on the bottom of my crutches down, so I would not slip on the ice. And then I would have to stop at the entry way and put the spikes up while trying to balance on the slush-covered floor. There were so many times that I would slip and I would slam my broken ankle onto the hard floor. It makes me shiver just recalling it. I can remember feeling the pins shifting in my ankle. Ouch. 

Quite the weapon

Over the next few months I would lose all strength in my left leg. It was shrinking. While my one leg was weakening, my arms were becoming super-strong from hobbling along on the crutches. I missed a lot of school, I missed my activities, I could not play sports, or do the things that I loved, and the things that were defining who I was as a young person -- that was all taken from me. Instead I got to sit, or hobble. I had a lot of quiet time. I got to become introspective. I got to think. I got to ponder. I got to consider who I was, and what my purpose was. It was hard. But I believe it was that experience that caused me to become the "thinker" that I am today. 

Being broken was a defining moment in my life.

After months of misery, it was finally time to have the pins removed, and it was time to take off my cast.  My slimy, smelly, signature-covered cast. Oh, how my leg would itch. I would take a hanger and try and scratch itchy places on my leg. I had just started shaving my legs, too, and so when they removed the cast my leg look like a shriveled monkey-leg, with pins sticking out of it. It was beyond nasty. 

How nasty is that . . . I kept my pins! 

I was free of my cast and pins, and I graduated to an air-cast. I still could not walk, but it was time to learn again. I recall one Sunday, I had someone line up the kitchen chairs in a row, so I could use them to balance myself. I started at one end, and I would place just a little pressure on my foot, and it hurt immensely. But I did not care. I knew I had to keep going. I wanted to walk! I wanted to be free again. And freedom was, in this case, on the other side of pain. I keep hobbling with my chair supports, back and forth. Over time, my shriveled leg regained it's muscle and strength. And I could walk again. 

It was, looking back, an amazing experience that I would never take from me. It was a roadblock in my life, that I did not want at the time. I sometimes wonder how my life would have been different had I not had such a disruption during my 7th grade year. I could have been awesome, right? A super-star or something. 

It was awful, but it was my life, my experience. 

I was broken, but I learned to walk again. 

A recovered Mari. Nice dress. :-) 

And that, my friends, is the point of life. If you fall down . . . get back up again. 

Thank you, broken ankle, for teaching me that while I was young.