hello, new leg with metal bits

Today I bent my knee 6 inches off the couch, and it was a grand achievement. It's been a smidge over a week since I had surgery for the spiral fracture I sustained in both my tibia and fibula. A roller derby injury from a night of Wednesday scrimmage, it happened mere days before the opening bout. I just fell.

Already, I had been working on slowing my life down a bit. Listening to my breathing, especially when exercising, and making the most of it. Being aware of my body as I pushed it to its limits. Running and biking in rhythm to avoid opening my mouth to gasp for air. That Wednesday was the first night I was bringing this practice into derby. This is what I find to be the most awkward admission of the injury: it wasn't clumsiness with which I fell. It's a lesson that I will learn from, as any hardship is. But it will also keep me still. I guess my inclination to slow down wasn't done quickly enough.

I cried on the way to the hospital, and in fits since then, because it was a shock. I was strong, in shape and healthy. I had been convinced that only ladies that threw themselves into derby without any prior athleticism got injured. My body was used to the laps of the track, the crossovers, countless falls and hits. In fact, I was sure that it thrived on it. I didn't look at my leg that night, not once, for fear that I wouldn't recognize it and the path I was now heading down.

Surgery happened amidst a fog of IV painkillers. It's not something I was ready for; it was just something I had acquiesced to. I was going to be fixed, but they were going to completely fuck me up in the process. I wasn't awake when they did it, wasn't aware when they explained it to me and have only been in my body since I got off the meds. The pain made sure of this.

I am alone. Not because of loneliness. In fact, I have only felt love and genuine support and care from my derby community, friends and family. To the point, in fact, that it makes me tear up just thinking about it. This is my greatest challenge thus far. There is metal and screws to hold my bones together and I must relearn how to use my leg, slowly, and with patience. Each hour of every day I am now lucid, I try to feel the fullness of the drag of time. Because, it, along with the full embrace of my loved ones and league, is what will heal me.