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Just months after undergoing my third C-section, for reasons I still can’t quite grasp, I found myself hopping on a skateboard at a friend’s place. Perhaps the urge to socialize after a long stretch of being cooped up with family clouded my judgment. My skateboarding adventure ended as abruptly as it began; I fell off the board and, upon landing, instantly sensed that something was amiss.
An adrenaline rush shot up my leg and into my core like a fast elevator. Despite my friend’s insistence that I get up and shake it off, all I managed was to roll to the side and take some deep breaths. An X-ray later confirmed my fears: I had broken my left fibula. “You’re fortunate,” my doctor remarked. “A couple of millimeters more, and you would have required surgery.”
I tried to keep that sentiment in mind—“I’m lucky, I’m lucky,” I’d repeat as I navigated our home on crutches, relying heavily on my husband for assistance with nearly everything. Just before my accident, life was finally becoming manageable: we had adjusted to a routine with the baby, the older kids were back in school after a long stretch of remote learning, and I had begun jogging again, something that always helped my mental well-being. Now, my husband had to help me with the baby in and out of the car, taking a shower felt like climbing a mountain, and every cuddle with my older children came with a warning to “be careful with mom’s leg.”
Despite my husband’s commendable efforts after work, chores piled up, dishes sat dirty in the sink, and crumbs on the floor gathered like they were preparing for a picnic. We were both worn out from adapting to the ever-changing situation around us, and my husband, who had taken superb care of me after surgery while juggling work and the kids’ remote learning, was experiencing caregiver burnout. Meanwhile, my mood sank lower and lower without my usual outlets: physical activity and rest. In short, I didn’t feel very fortunate.
After a brief period of self-pity, I learned to maneuver the stroller with one crutch to transport the baby from room to room. We created diaper stations in multiple spots, and yes, I wore a fanny pack filled with essentials. While putting away dishes was too much to tackle, I could at least unload them onto the counter. Netflix and a couch made folding laundry more efficient than ever. Despite these adjustments, I still yearned to move my body, to jog until I felt that familiar sense of bliss. “The mental aspect is often the toughest part of this kind of injury,” my doctor advised. In desperation, I searched online and discovered Caroline Jordan’s Chair Cardio. Though punching and kicking from the comfort of my kitchen table didn’t feel entirely right, it was a way to elevate my heart rate and lift my spirits.
After ten long weeks, my doctor finally cleared me to walk longer distances and ride a bike, a welcome relief. I skipped physical therapy as prescribed, thinking I could research and manage it myself during the busy winter months filled with kids and holidays.
Three months later, still in pain and struggling with limited ankle mobility, I took my kids to a playground where I fortuitously met a physical therapist named Sarah Mitchell. We discussed my injury, and she offered to come to my home for sessions. Remarkably, I noticed improvements after just two sessions, and by the time I completed six, the changes were significant. Best of all, Sarah encouraged me to jog—starting with intervals of running followed by walking.
Recently, my friend’s partner dusted off his rollerblades after decades, only to take a nasty spill that resulted in multiple surgeries for a broken wrist. It seems the events of the past year have sparked a misplaced confidence in our physical capabilities. Or maybe skateboards and rollerblades are simply dangerous. Either way, injuring myself while still nursing a restless infant and raising two older kids during a pandemic left me with little emotional reserves. Without my usual coping strategies, I had to dig deeper than I ever imagined possible.
Finding a way to stay active that worked around my injury and finally committing to physical therapy were essential for my recovery. Just recently, I was able to jog three miles straight for the first time in over a year … and for the first time, I genuinely felt lucky.
For more insights on navigating parenthood, check out this other blog post on home insemination. If you’re looking for resources, Make A Mom is an excellent authority on the topic. Additionally, Cleveland Clinic offers valuable information about pregnancy and home insemination.
Summary
After an unexpected skateboard accident resulted in a broken ankle, a mother navigates the challenges of recovery while managing her family. Through determination, improvisation, and the help of a physical therapist, she ultimately finds her way back to jogging and feels a renewed sense of luck and gratitude.
Keyphrase
postpartum recovery and injury
Tags
[“home insemination kit” “home insemination syringe” “self insemination”]