Rhoda Lea

Thoughts on the Journey of Life

MAY 2, 2010 – DAY 110

I’ve been promising to tell the story about how I broke my leg.  Honestly, I was reluctant to put the whole story into cyberspace because of not wishing to upset Richard.  However, by the time he gets home the whole thing will be old news and I will be able to dance with him in the family room.  All will be forgiven.

Now, what would he have to forgive you may be thinking.  Here it is, it’s my son’s fault I broke my leg.  I had worked on Saturday April 10th and I had promised the boys their first beach trip of the season on Sunday, April 11th.  I went to bed on Saturday with a plan in mind.  We were going to get up on Sunday and clean the house then pack the cooler and head to Hannah Park.  However, I didn’t get up until about 8:30, a little later than I wanted.  I pulled on the clothes I had put on after work and headed to the kitchen for coffee, passing Sean with his bowl of cereal on the way.  Thank the Lord I put on actual clothing and not some kind of moo moo or sarong!  However, on the way to coffee I realized I needed to go the bathroom.  On the way to the bathroom is when it happened.

The house that we live in has been the sad recipient of a series of poorly planned and poorly executed remodels.  It was built in 1958 as a 1500 square foot, mid-century modern ranch with an attached carport, three bedrooms and one bathroom.  Sometime in the 1970’s the original owners added on a Florida room with a fireplace, enclosed the carport and added a bathroom.  The carport and the additional bathroom then became a master bedroom of sorts.

In the 1980’s the owners of my house got married, bought this house as I have just described it and proceeded over the years to “open it up.”  However, the master bedroom, the family room, and the additional bathroom are all about six inches lower than the original house.  This means I have a six inch step down from my sink area to my stove area.  My kitchen is cut in two by a six inch drop.  I understand wanting a bigger kitchen but talk about idiocy.  I can’t move from my stove to my sink without stepping up a six inch step.  Prior to breaking my leg, I can’t count the number of times we all have caught the toe of a sandal or a flip flop on that step and  went flying across the kitchen floor.  I always knew that if we managed to live in this house without me breaking my leg it would be a miracle.

On Sunday, April 11th, 2010 the thing I feared most came upon me.  I stepped off that step in the kitchen on my way to the bathroom and my left leg flew out from underneath me.  I landed with all my somewhat considerable weight on my 47 year old right leg.  I heard it snap.  It sounded like breaking chicken bones; like when you cut up a chicken.  As I lay there screaming for Sean, I thought to myself, “Now you’ve done it.  You broke your leg.”  Sean grabbed the house phone and dialed 911.

He was incredible.  He was calm and answered all the operators questions like a grown person.  He told them his mom had broken her leg in the kitchen and was laying on the kitchen floor.  He confirmed that I could not stand or walk.  He pulled up the leg of my sweatpants and said, “No, there’s no blood and no bone sticking out.”  The kid rocked!  Not a tear, not a quiver in his voice.  He was totally calm and completely mature!

Meanwhile Adam had heard me screaming and had rolled out of bed to see what had happened.  He got the cell phone and started calling my dear friend Kevin.  When he got Kevin’s voice mail he left a message.  Then handing me the cell phone, he ran in bare feet and boxers three houses down to our neighbor, Tim’s house.  All of this he did on his own initiative while his brother spoke to the 911 operator.  He was amazing!  Especially considering Adam is the kid that doesn’t wake up well and stutters!  I was so proud.

Once Sean was off the phone and confirmed with me that the ambulance was on it’s way, I rolled over onto my stomach and felt the area where my left foot had temporarily been.  The floor was wet.  “Sean, why is the floor wet?  The floor is wet.  Sean, why is it wet?”  At which point I heard Sean take a sharp intake of breath and choke out, “Mom, I spilled the milk and didn’t wipe it up.”  I said something very Sailor like at that point which I had to apologize for later, and the poor kid started crying.  He felt like poo poo!

By that time the ambulance had come along with Adam and Tim and a couple of police officers.  The cops show up to make sure that minor children are not left alone in the house.  But, Kevin had called to say he was on his way.  With my purse on my belly and my cell phone tucked into the collar of my sweatshirt I was rolled out to the ambulance yelling at my neighbor, “Tim, don’t let those people take my kids.  Wait for Kevin!”

Kevin met us at the emergency room taking pictures of me there with my cut up sweat pants and my big white cast.  He brought us all back home picking up my prescription for me at Walgreens and holding back my hair while I threw up out the door of his car in the Walgreens parking lot.  Like I said, he’s a good friend.

Since that time my young men have been amazing.  They have managed with very little help to get dinner on for all of us.  They have also kept the house reasonably clean, despite the maggots, and have taken care of me.  They have watched over me while I showered.  Got me some breakfast and made me a sack lunch each day.  Made coffee in the morning and tucked me at night.  They have Taken care of their dogs and kept their grades up.  I love the young men my little boys are becoming, and am so grateful to God for their presence in my life.  Despite the broken leg and the maggots, they have both more than made up for their little mistakes along the way.  No condemnation here, and their father has nothing to be angry about.  In fact, I know, he’s going to be very, very proud!

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Rhoda Lea

Thoughts on the Journey of Life

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