Bedbound with a Sprained Ankle

R is not a fan of bed-bound Mommy

On Sunday I took R to see the latest exhibit at the ArtScience Museum, because it was mummies!! (shipped over from the British Museum). I prepped her ahead of time, showing her pictures of sarcophagi and talking about how exciting it was going to be to see them in person. This worked well (and taught her a new word, mummies, which she kept repeating the whole way there), until we actually arrived.

The exhibit started with a 3-D movie showing the different layers of a mummy. I tried to watch it with R, but the content was beyond her and the pictures were unintelligible (as she wouldn't keep the glasses on, everything appeared blurry). So she began to make noise and I had to quickly remove her.

I hurried down the unlit staircase to the exit, naturally wearing 2-inch wedge heels (because I am only 5'2" and like to appear taller), and hauling a grumpy, struggling toddler. So maybe it's not surprising I failed to notice the last step and slipped instead. My ankle bent inwards and right away I could tell things were not good (an impression furthered by the gasp coming from the rest of the audience, who could see it all as the exit was in front).

R was of course fine (one interesting thing about being a mother is your apparent protective instinct: I have fallen twice while carrying her and both times my body just naturally moved to shield R from harm, at the cost of injuring myself. This happened without any conscious decision-making: more like a reflex than a moral choice.). But I sprained my left ankle and bruised my right knee. At first I could walk fairly well and was able to make it home without problems, but soon my foot swelled up to a tremendous size and I became immobile.

A visit to the ER followed: I am lucky because nothing is broken (rather to the surprise of the ER doctor), but I was ordered to stay in bed for the next three days. I have never been on bed rest before when I wasn't extremely ill, and it is incredibly boring.

It is also very inconvenient, as I can't do anything, even change R's diaper. B has had to stay home from work for the last few days and do everything, including bringing me icepacks every few hours. I find it psychologically difficult because 1. I feel guilty for all the trouble I am causing thanks to my clumsiness and 2. B does not do everything the way I would, and because I am a control freak it is difficult not to mind this. So I am not a good invalid, and instead of being grateful to B for his help, alternate between bitchy criticism ("R still isn't ready for school???") and whining about how I am so pathetic (B: "Do you want water?" Me: "Nobody has offered me any", said in a mournful tone).

Tomorrow I am allowed up again. It is strange to be excited for the opportunity to do laundry and take R to school: I suppose the upside of misfortune is that you appreciate the little things more.