It's been a while since I've really injured myself- not since before I got pregnant, really- so I suppose it was about time.
I wasn't doing anything particularly awe-inspiring or epic this time (although my climbing bros made up an elaborate story for me via text, involving angry bears and bees) not even running. I'd been running, playing Chase with Grasshopper and Elk in the cul-de-sac outside their house, but when I went down I was just... walking. Walking along all innocently, when a curb-gremlin reached out and grabbed me.
Down I went, with a POP and a shriek (kudos for me because I did not scream obscenities in the presence of my 5-and-2-year-old nephews), immediately rolling to my back like a cockroach and yelling "Get your Uncle Jeff!"
Now, this must have been a supremely confusing bit of instruction for the boys, since their uncle is Nathan, and Jeff is their father's name, but Grasshopper dutifully took off at a run to get help, and little Elk came over to me (still writhing on the ground) and held my hand so I wouldn't be scared.
My sweet little heroes.
Soon enough both Nathan and Jeff appeared, by which time I'd managed to sit up and discover that my ankle was 100% non-weight-bearing. So it was good there were two of them, because they both carried me up the ridiculously steep hill to the house (and Jeff cemented himself as Best Brother-In-Law by saying, "Why, you're not heavy at all!")
The timing on this is... not ideal. We have a wedding to go to tomorrow, and a flight home the day after that. And I'm beginning to suspect that I'm going to need to go back to Urgent Care in the morning, because I still can't put any weight on it.
Can't say this vacation hasn't been exciting, anyway.