Introduction
Two months ago, I broke my ankle. Since then, my excursions outside of my house have been limited to fracture clinic appointments and two feeble attempts at returning to work at the office. I am fortunate to have a job that allowed me to work from home (albeit with the occasional attempts to pressure me into returning to work from the powers that be) since my office building has no elevator and our suite is on the second floor (where the washroom has no large stall and no bars beside any toilet).
For those that care, I broke it in the line of duty. It was about 4am on a Sunday morning when my daughter awoke crying. I picked her up and felt that her diaper needed changing. After that, she signed for milk (we've been doing ASL with her since the fall) so I took her downstairs to get a bottle out of the fridge. En route, with her in my arms, I either missed a step or slipped. I went down, clutching her close to my chest, and bearing my full weight on the one ankle. She was unharmed but rather startled. I dislocated my foot, fractured my fibula and got the added bonus of chipping my tibia.
Sparing you the bulk of the details, I eventually had surgery to set the fibula fracture with a plate and screws. The chipped tibia could not be repaired, which meant that I couldn't rest my foot upright. It had to be on an angle, making everything that much more fun.
Irony
The first few days were pretty challenging, mainly because I was still in a soft cast (post-surgical) and as such could not really do much with my daughter. Once I got into a fibreglass cast and then a removable boot it was easier to hold her since the solid support allowed her to move more freely. I was still laid up in bed, but at least she could be there with me (for the three minutes her attention span would allow before asking to be put back down). However, at this point I felt more like a piece of furniture than a father. She could cry, but what could I do for her? It's impossible to safely lift a child out of a crib on one foot. And with a meandering 14 month old, maneuvering crutches or a walker is nearly impossible. So, whenever I needed to get up to use the washroom or dress myself, she needed to be placed in her exersaucer or playpen, usually much to her chagrin.
As time wore on, she seemed to become more understanding (no doubt thanks to MTM's continuous instructions "be gentle with Daddy's leg") and also more aware of the situation. The first time I went outside and sat on the porch while she played in the front yard with MTM she was beside herself with excitement. She didn't ask me to come down to her level, but rather seemed to search her toys for something small she could carry up the stairs with her. She eventually brought me some bubbles and asked to sit on my lap while we played with them.
Later on, I graduated to a splint/brace that allowed me more flexibility in my foot. After about a week I got the confidence to lower myself from the couch to the floor and crawl around with her while we "danced" to one of her CDs. Again, she sensed this was something "big" and reacted as such.
Yesterday, we were all outside on the driveway together as I am now putting a fair bit of weight on my bad ankle. Our neighbours came over and we eventually all migrated back to their backyard. While there, at one point the munchkin came over to me and put her arms up. I thought she wanted assistance getting up the deck stairs (I was sitting on the stairs) but when I lifted her, she leaned forward to me for a big hug/cuddle.
That's when it really hit me. For two months I have viewed this broken ankle and all the forced dependence that came with it as the scourge of my existence. While in truth it still qualifies as the worst two months of my life, there is a silver lining to the cloud it hung (hangs) over me. Two months at home have brought the munchkin and I closer than we have been since her birth (when I was her primary care giver since MTM was recovering from her caesarean section). While I used to have to chase her down for a hug, she now asks for me. I can calm her down when she is beside herself with frustration, something that was solely MTM's area before now.
I've been able to spend a lot more time with her than I would have had this not happened. I still have long periods of isolation so I can work, but we eat lunch together, she comes for "visits", and I often give her bottles before naps and bedtime. All this is new since I have been home. She wants me to be more involved; or at least it seems that way from her actions.
In fact, the last two paragraphs took over 30 minutes to type since she refused to nap without having two separate bottles with Daddy.
In some strange ironic twist that only reality can deliver, I became more like the father I wanted to be by first being unable to be even the father I had been. Funny how life works out that way.
Insight
Looking back on the last two months, having the injury I had is a lot like being a child. When I first came home, I was unable to go to the washroom without MTM's assistance. I couldn't bathe, wash my hair, shave, or even brush my teeth without help. As of this writing I still climb the stairs on my hands and knees, and go down "on my bum". I could not go downstairs without someone setting up the furniture I needed at the top (a chair to lower myself from) and someone at the bottom to hand me my walker. I could not go out to our porch without MTM making arrangements first.
The first time I was able to make the conscious decision I was going to get up and go to the bathroom and the event occurred without MTM's help (aside from monitoring toddler traffic in the hall) was monumental. I felt such a sense of accomplishment after only weeks of being unable.
I felt similar feelings when I became able to come downstairs on my own power of my own accord, and recently have been able to get on to the porch and off the porch without MTM's assistance (although she remains to "spot" me, just in case).
Finally, the first shower I took (real shower, not sitting in some chair in a tub) was incredible.
All these "achievements" are things my daughter has to look forward to over the next few years. Using the potty, unsupervised baths, and getting down from the porch without Mommy hovering are all milestones in her life. Now that I have had to relive many of these myself, I have a new appreciation for what she will be feeling.
Maybe (just maybe) there are some perks to having a broken ankle.
Indebted
I am forever in MTM's debt now, since there is no way I can repay her for the time and care (and lost sleep) she gave willingly and (usually) happily these past two months. A foot-rub a night for the rest of our lives wouldn't even scratch the surface.
She not only hovered over myself and the munchkin when we needed attention. She took care of both of us. She washed me and fed me and even connected the new video capture device to the computer AND connected our second DVD player and VCR to the bedroom television so I could watch my season finales when my meds weren't making me drowsy (otherwise I would have missed the final episodes of Lost).
It was hard for me to accept the help. I've always been independent. I had to recognize that this was what she and I signed up for when we got married. We agreed to take care of each other; I did it for her last spring when the munchkin was born. Now she has been able to do it for me.
So, thank you, my wife, for everything.
