I Broke My Foot

👋 Hey friends,

I think I might have to change this year's theme; because being "goofy" hurts.

Hours after publishing last week's newsletter, I went on a run with my friends Dat and Tehan. The sidewalks were icy and still covered in snow. So, we took things slow. We ran on the roads and made a loop through the park near my house.

We walked most of the way back; stopping occasionally to throw snowballs at each other. As we crossed the street into my neighborhood, I felt like a kid again walking home from school. And, almost as if he was leaning into the fantasy, my friend Dat said in a mischievous voice, "Wanna race?"

The three of us looked at each other. Then, we took off.

I was out in front – bounding down the hill at the entrance to the neighborhood – hoping my legs would stay under me as gravity kept gradually building my speed. I took a wide turn at the large juniper tree that marks the street to my house, and then I tore down the straight pavement.

I slowed down once I reached the top of the last hill that curves into my cul-de-sac; hearing Dat's voice call out and say, "I give up this isn't fun anymore."

Tehan met up with me and we waited for Dat together. Dat slowed down as he reached us, but just as he got close, he sped up again. When I realized I'd been tricked, he and Tehan were already well ahead of me.

I acted quickly and decided to take a short cut down the steep, snowy, icy, hill that divided the street and our cul-de-sac. While stomping and sliding down the hill, I realized just how stupid this idea was and how likely I was to get hurt.

But by the time I finished that thought, I was safely down the hill.

Only 20 yards from the door now, Tehan and Dat right behind me, I pushed off from the ground below like I was a high school sprinter again and knew they didn't have a chance of beating me.

At this moment, I wasn't thinking about the ice on the ground. I wasn't thinking about how my twenty-eight year old body was tired from the run. I was simply thinking how fun – how goofy – it felt to be racing your adult friends home.

In that euphoria of fun I yelled out, "It's the tortoise, the hare, and the fox, baby" and leapt up the short set of stairs to my porch.

I felt my right foot slide backwards on the ice as my momentum continued carrying my body forwards. Then, I felt my foot buckle as my moment of weightlessness came to an end and my body became a lever. Then, I hit the ground.

As I lay there holding my foot, the first thing I thought was, "Fuck. I'm not going to be able to snowboard." In that moment, I felt young and stupid and old and fragile.

Sarah and I went to an urgent care clinic the next day.

We didn't go immediately because Tehan, who is about to start residency in emergency medicine, insisted that I simply sprained my ankle. He said the pain in my foot and my inability to walk was all in my head.

In fact, he told me, "The worst thing you can do is immobilize it. You need to keep walking on it as much as possible to repair the torn ligaments and limit scar tissue."

I think it's unfair that people say medical residents, "Aren't real doctors". They're real doctors. They're just inexperienced doctors.

Having successfully convinced everyone that I was being dramatic, my pride pushed me to take Tehan's advice. I even stumbled around an escape room we booked for my birthday that night.

Afterwards – as I used my friend Faith as a crutch because each step felt like being stabbed with a hot, rusty, ice pick – Tehan insisted that he saw me walking normally while we were inside the room.

If you ever find yourself under the care of a Dr. Dassanayaka in the Cincinnati emergency room, I recommend you politely inform the nursing staff that you'd like to be seen by a different physician.

When we got home, I took off my shoes, looked down at the foot shaped watermelon with little purple grape toes attached to my body, and knew I needed to get a second opinion.

When the real doctor at the urgent care clinic came into the room to read me the results of my X-rays, she said, "Well, you really did a number".

"Oh really?" I replied.

"Yup. Specifically the numbers two and three. You broke both your second and third metatarsal bones."

For a moment, I was flushed with a feeling of elated vindication. I was not – as I was beginning to think – a big, dramatic baby.

Then, I realized that being proven right about the severity of my injury was in some ways worse than being wrong. Your pride can heal while you snowboard. Your bones can not.

As I waited for them to bring me my referral to the orthopedist, I tried to make myself feel better by researching, "How to sue for medical malpractice".

I'm writing this while wearing the short prosthetic boot that I'll be in for the next 8-12 weeks. I'll be spending my annual ski trip this year reading instead of skiing, so please send book recommendations!

Obviously, this is a disappointing way to start the year. But it's also a funny story that I'll enjoy telling (and lording over Tehan) for years to come.

There are others who have had an eventful start to their year that isn't so funny. The LA fires have razed many people's homes and lives. If you can, consider donating to help these people reset after this tragic series of disasters.

Until next time,
Drew