Over the last week I've
been hobbling around on crutches with a foot that should not be such
a blotchy purple colour. A lot of people have asked me “what have
you done to your foot”. So to avoid telling the story another
hundred times, this post should answer all your questions.
Early December (3-5th),
I went on a hike along the coast track with some friends from church.
We started from Cronulla and caught the ferry across to Bundeena,
then headded south along the coast track. Our group set a leisurely
pace as our trek was about 28K's over three days.
Here I'll jump forward to day three where I broke my foot.
We were toward the end
of our journey, about three klicks north of Otford station at the
time. Our company of seven was split up, four of us were at the top
of a cliff, ready for lunch, the others were lagging behind, about
four hundred metres away, at the bottom of a steep descent, down a
pathway and through some overgrown scrub.
My friend suggested he
and I go and help the others with their packs, he ducks off, I drop
my pack and left it with two of the girls at the top who were
enjoying some hard earned rest. I finish my snack and follow after
him by myself. Passing a small gurgling stream I head down the first
steep descent. Each step was carved deep into the stone of the
mountain side. It would be tough getting back up these steps (even
without a pack), and I was already exhausted from the day's up and
down hills. It was a good thing I'd eaten a snack to keep my strength
up. The high steps gave way to a level pathway once more so I
continued on.
I'm now about two
hundred and fifty metres away from the two at the top. I've gone
through thick sound dampening scrub and descended to the bottom of
many high stone steps. I've now gone a further hundred and fifty metres
along a pathway and my foot slips on a rock and rolls our from
underneath me.
Like rice crispies, it
goes snap, crackle, pop.
From the time I lose my
balance and my foot goes pop, my brain has enough time to register
some facts before the pain reaches it:
- I've just done probably the most serious damage I've ever done to myself,
- It's going to take ages to heal, and
- If all things work for good for those in Christ, how does this?
And then my foot goes “No
more” and I crumple in a heap.
My screams could be heard
from all the way up the top where the two girls were.
At this point I figure
it would be prudent to abandon my quest of helping the others with
their packs (sorry guys) and to head back to the stream I passed
earlier and try to ice my foot in the relatively cool water. Even so,
it takes three times as long to get back up those steps. The stream was only
about thirty metres from the top, so I call out to them and one
kindly brings me some bandages.
She looks at me like
I'm such a muffin and says “What the heck? You're the biggest guy
in the group.” as if to say 'of all the likely people in the group,
how could this happen to you'
I look at my foot, it's
swollen up faster than anything I've ever seen before. Looks like I'm
trying to smuggle an orange where my ankle should be. I'm shaking a
fair bit too, (probably shock). Anyway, I find a stick and hobble the
three k's to the station at Otford. Now I'm the one slowing the group
down. )-:
And that's pretty much
more or less the story of why I'm hobbling around doing a good
impression of the way a zombie walks.
and now I'll jump back to
the first night of the trek.
We set up camp in a
secluded grove of eucalipts. There was a swimming hole nearby,
complete with it's own waterfall. The frigid water was ice cold and
crystal clear, you could see right to the bottom two metres deep and
about fifteen metres across. So good to have such beautiful places in
creation, yet better still that I've been made able to enjoy it.
On the near bank of the
water was a large flat rock big enough to comfortably seat all eight
of us. Sam stood in the water, letting it soothe his aching feet
after the day's hike. The rock was about waist height, so he was able
to tend to cooking dinner “like a teppanyaki Japanese barbecue”.
One of the girls was the first one to discover there were eels in the
water. She discovered this when it swam out from under the rock and
curiously nibbled at her toes. Only Sam and I were game enough to
remain in the water after that.
I could tell that he
was just a bit apprehensive about 'Freckles' (by this stage the eel
had been named :D ). he's turned away to talk to someone and I've
seized my opportunity. Kneeling down, I quietly tickle his foot.
Thinking it was the eel, he jumps out of the water and came *very*
close to squealing. I'm such a troll tehehee.
It was a thoroughly
enjoyable hike with some really cool people and I truly had a great
time.
Points of reflection:
Good things about having
a broken foot:
- foot that changes
colour like a human chameleon (I'm so artistic without even trying)
- PAINKILLERS!!! : P and
the subsequent trippy dreams thereof.
- not looking like a slob
when I put my foot up on the desk
- only needing to wash half as many socks
- only needing to wash half as many socks
- Thunderous exercise for
the other leg
- getting intimately
acquainted with the floor of my room
and,
- the subsequent
motivation to clean said floor
Then suddenly my mind is
ambushed by a...
Random thought:
I will never in my
lifetime know what dinosaur tastes like. This saddens me.
And so my story
continues...
last Thursday I saw an
specialist, who confirmed that I have torn ligament damage and it
will take many weeks to heal properly. Fortunately I won't need
surgery (I hope) as it's got lots of little tears rather than having
snapped clean away from my other foot bones (I'm sure that's not even
remotely close to the accurate medical name for 'foot bones', but
that's what I'm calling them).
So I'm on crutches for
the next week.
I had a really good bad
idea the other day. How about, instead of using crutches, use POGO STICKS!!
then I could jump along much faster like a kangaroo. Is perfect plan, no?
Today I was issued with
one of those 'moon boots' to keep my foot from moving in unhelpful
ways. That thing is so bulky, when I wear it, I feel ready to go to
space.
The physio I saw today
said I should be fully healed in about eight weeks.
It's a shock to my ego
to need to rely on the help of others. I can't carry my groceries
when using crutches, places take much longer to get to, and I really
shouldn't be driving. But good does come out of this. This is how I
can tell God loves me, because he teaches me by giving me situations
in life where I have to learn to be humble (very useful thing to know).
James the heavy is not so impervious to injury.
until next time, I'm
going off on other adventures.
Peace out.
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