June 2003

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When I was eleven years old, I sprained my left ankle very, very badly while wandering around a mountainside one lovely summer day. It was when I was off at summer school, and we had taken a field trip away from the campus.

I've forgotten the exact point of the field trip, but it was out on some land the college owned. We were probably being shown mountain flowers and other things indigenous to that part of the state. At any rate, I met an unexpected gully, and the ankle turned.

For some reason the counselor for my group decided it wasn't serious enough sprain for me to go to the infirmary when we got back to the campus. She was wrong.

My mother made absolutely sure the counselor knew she was wrong a few days later, at which point I was taken to the infirmary. But by then the damage was done, and I've had a tendency toward tendonitis in that ankle ever since.

My ankle doesn't hurt all the time, but when it does decide to get busy and ache, it makes its discomfort known quite clearly. Which it did over the weekend. And which it's still doing today. I have long since learned what will make it better, and am doing those things, thanks. But in the meantime, it's making my day a little more challenging than any Monday needs to be.

I've spent the evening doing quiet things, like writing letters and watching television. There are times when I'm enormously grateful for sedentary pursuits. And for ankle braces.

Text � copyright 2000-2003 Becky