A Broken Ankle

I think I took someone’s advice too seriously this week.

I appeared in a play Thursday evening and as I was going on stage another actor whispered the age-old words for those going before the lights: “Break a leg.”

So, I did. Not that night, but the next morning as I walked my doglets along the cobbled streets of San Miguel de Allende, I took a tumble.

My body must have suddenly caught up with my hearing, and down I went. Sure enough, after being picked up off the street by two lovely Mexican women and steered into a nearby house, riding in an ambulance, enduring an x-ray of a swollen ankle, the doctor confirmed: yes, the ankle is broken or cracked or whatever happens when you land on a body part, and something snaps.

The decision facing me was do I have surgery or just have a cast put on encasing the leg from my knee to the better portion of my foot. My issue was which one would I recover from quicker, because my sister and I are heading to points of interest in early May. When I was assured I would be mobile by May 1 if we did surgery and it would take much longer with a cast…you guessed it, surgery was the choice.

One of the wonderful things about being in SMA is there is an abundance of experienced caregivers who understand giving care especially to ex-pats. As you may recall, SMA is called the City of Fallen Women because everyone takes a dive to the stones sooner or later. This is a city of narrow sidewalks, cobblestone walkways and streets, and an abundance of older gringos.

Of course, we are going to fall, because most of us walk everywhere. Taxis and buses are abundant, but it is not unusual for folks to walk several miles a day to nearby stores, shops, restaurants, and visiting neighbors. San Miguel is a walking town.

I broke my knee almost six years ago while not paying attention to my footing, and thank goodness I didn’t fall on that knee, I somehow avoided that impact, but my ankle fell victim to the uneven ground.

As I mentioned, caregivers are abundant here, mainly because of their connections to family. Bonds are formed early and last a lifetime between family members. And they understand and respond when help is needed.

So as I celebrate my 83rd birthday, I am being towed around in a chair with wheels, fed homecooked meals, helped into and out of bed and chairs, and attempting to understand the comments made by the non-English speaking person who lovingly takes care of me.

Life could be worse.