So we are having a great week of vacation at Edisto Beach. Even with 17 people in the house - 11 of them children - all has been fun. I love Edisto. I have from the first moment I drove onto the Island 10 years ago. It’s one of those places that just feels like home to me.
But last night - Tuesday - things did not go smoothly. It was my night to prepare supper for everyone. I went to the store to get the ingredients for two of my world famous spinach-pesto lasagnas: one with meat and one for the vegetarians in the bunch. I started cooking and realized there were no lasagne pans in the house. So I went BACK to the Piggly WIggly (known as “the pig” in Edistonian parlance) and bought two pans. Got back. Finished lasagnes. Went out on the porch to join the siblings and cousins and husband in enjoying a fruity tropical beverage. Went back in the house to check my two cheesy masterpieces. Opened the oven door, and…
For some reason the tray slid forward and I had to make a split second decision whether I would allow myself to be attacked by slimy, boiling hot lasagne or just get out of the way. I chose the latter. The pans fell forward and splatted all over the floor, the walls, etc…
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Then, after all the lasagne drama had died down - close to bedtime for the children - I announced I wanted to take some of the kids for a walk under the moon on the beach. Helen, Anna, Jones, E., H., J., Eleanor and I headed out. My brother came along. Four year old Helen was skipping along and singing down the beach and I decided to follow suit. I leapt in the air, being totally silly, and came down on my right leg.
At that point, I felt a rip or a pop - a totally bizarre physical sensation I’ve never felt before - deep in the calf of my leg. I turned to my brother and said “I think I just broke my leg,” before the wave of pain hit and I collapsed on the beach.
Over the next 20 minutes, I writhed in pain on the dark beach, surrounded by a circle of children and adult family members who were trying to figure out what to do. Several times I attempted to hop into the house with H. and Jon supporting me, before being overcome by nausea and nearly blacking out. I think I was in shock. This was some serious bad pain.
Finally the decision was made that my leg was likely broken, and I was carried to the car on a blanket, and my brother in law, eldest son and Jon drove me to Charleston to the nearest ER. By the time we got there, it was midnight.
Three hours or so later, we headed back to Edisto Island. My leg is not broken; instead, I have torn my calf muscle and may have ripped the ligament behind my knee. I have crutches. I have a prescription for two days worth of painkillers (although we seem to have forgotten our drug prescription card, and so we’re trying to figure out where and how it will get filled.) I am advised to see an orthopedic surgeon as soon as we return to Knoxville.
I cannot walk. I can barely turn over in bed without yelping in pain. I am lying in bed upstairs, trying to get the mental and physical energy to try to get into clean clothes (it hurts to move). I feel guilty because now Jon’s relaxing beach vacation will involve caring for an infant, older kids (wlthough they, of course, mostly care for themselves, there is some parenting involved at the beach even for a 10 year old, a 12 year old and a 16 year old.) And yes, I will admit that I am pretty bummed because for all intents and purposes, my vacation just came to a screeching halt. Everyone else is having fun in the water.
Did I mention that my leg hurts?
