So cool
‘Hey O! Look at meeeeee! I’m such a cool Mummyyyyy …. !!’
…. SPLAT.
(Hi! I’ll just park that there for a moment while I give you a little backstory.)
Boom and bust
Now, I’ve been in a vicious ‘boom and bust’ cycle in recent months with my ME/POTS. I like to ‘boom’ hard when I’m feeling good; however, I generally ‘bust’ even harder afterwards, collapsing in a heap on the sofa/bed, going through the crippling, exhausting, nauseating motions for however many days and/or weeks it takes to eventually feel well enough for a crack at the next ‘boom.’
And thanks to my rather epic recent ‘boom’ – which I’m shamelessly excited to share with you – last weeks ‘bust’ brought all of the aforementioned … PLUS a rather-painful-yet-kinda-funny sprained foot on top. Oops. Go grab yourself a nice brew and a biscuit, and let me tell you aaaaall about it.
Skateboarding: Pete and O
So, O (my seven-year-old-son) has been having skateboard lessons recently, and his instructor has also (rather nicely) been teaching Pete at the same time; it’s been like a fun father-son activity for them. Or at least, it was until fifty-something-father got a little toooooo into it, bought himself his own skateboard, helmet and pads (midlife crisis, anyone?), practised in his lunch breaks, watched a lot of skateboard videos on YouTube and committed the heinous sin of performing a ‘trick’ that O couldn’t do yet. Cue: O fired him, and recruited me as the fun parent who gets to take him to his lessons.
… And, awful as it sounds – I was secretly pleased. I wanted to see my boy in action for myself, having not seen him skateboard yet – plus I was suffering a serious dose of skateboard envy after seeing how much Pete was loving it. I fancied having a go, but Pete wouldn’t share his precious new skateboard with me … the massive meanie. As such, being recruited as O’s new favourite fun parent was just perfect. (The place he’s learning at have spare boards, helmets and pads, so I didn’t need Pete’s stupid board anyway. Ha!)
Skateboarding: Me and O
Fast forward to our third lesson together and O is doing amazing; he’s a very fast learner and I’m a very proud Mummy. But I’m also a rather ambitious and competitive Mummy who, with just the right amount of encouragement (like being told by O’s instructor that I am doing incredibly well for a first timer, and that most beginners don’t get anywhere near as far as I have so quickly with zero experience under their belt, and NOOOOO, of COURSE she wasn’t just saying that because I was paying her!) felt like maybe I could be the next Tony Hawk. (Of course, I would change my name to Toni with an ‘i’ because, ya know, let’s be realistic here – I’m not the ACTUAL Tony Hawk … even if I am almost as good!)
But mostly – I wanted to be better than Pete. And O also wanted me to be better than Pete. Not in a malicious way; just in a healthy, competitive, ‘wouldn’t it be funny’ kind of way.
And – in the spirit of being realistic – I would naturally acknowledge my incredibly minor handicaps, such as: approaching middle-age (though MUCH younger than Pete of course), completely inexperienced, chronically ill, permanently exhausted, perimenopausal, and pretty much fucked off with everyone and everything most of the time.
… But otherwise, I was raring to go and DESTINED for skateboarding greatness. Let’s DO THIS!!
Eat shit, Pete! Oh, wait …
O was learning how to do a ‘drop in’ (that thing where skateboarders position their board at the top of a ramp and then drop down over the edge). I was paying very close attention, and copying the learning methods being taught near the bottom of a small ramp; I like to think I was being sensible and not doing anything I didn’t feel ready for. Anyways, I practised until I felt ready to have a go at ‘dropping in’ from the top of said small ramp – like a PROPER skateboarder.
… I mean, what could POSSIBLY go wrong? Time for ‘Toni’ here to showcase her skills!
And ya know what? It actually went really well. I carefully positioned my board and successfully rolled down over the top of the ramp like an absolute pro (me, exaggerate? Surely not!). It felt utterly exhilarating; ‘Eat shit, Pete! Never wanted to play with your new board anyway!’
But my smugness lasted nanoseconds. Because, then I remembered how the instructor had said that even small ramps can make you go a lot faster than you’re used to as a beginner. I remembered this just as it dawned on me that I was now hurtling towards a very large and super steep ramp that I was most definitely NOT experienced enough for … at great speed.
By the time I realised, it was too late. I flew up the massive ramp and lost all sense of balance and control.
Now, rather annoyingly, no fucker saw my rather impressive (if I do say so myself) ‘drop in.’ They just heard the massive THUD as I came crashing down and landed on my – rather-awkwardly-rolled – foot/ankle. (NOT cool, dudes. Not cool!)
Foot says no
I like to think I have quite a high pain tolerance. After all, I did walk around with a burst appendix for 8 days once that could have straight up killed me, while doctors chanted: ‘it won’t be a burst appendix – you would know about it if it was! It’s probably IBS or something.’ These doctors were all men who – I imagine – hadn’t tried parenting a busy toddler whilst dealing with brutal chronic illness at the same time before … and therefore had zero clue what REAL endurance looks like. But I digress. I therefore like to think the pain in my foot must have been pretty bad for me to be physically unable to walk.
I left it overnight to see if it would get any better (mainly because I REALLY couldn’t be arsed spending god knows how many hours in a hospital waiting room, when I’d much rather be snuggled up in bed). However, I still couldn’t put any weight on it the next morning. Even the slightest pressure on the ground was greeted with a massive, ‘you-can-fuck-right-off!’ from my foot. So, off I hobbled to A&E for an x-ray.
… Entertainingly, I had to tell the radiographer and doctor to ignore the bright red graze on my ankle about 2 inches away from my current injury, as that was an old wound caused by a failed attempt at break dancing the previous weekend. This is clearly a story for another day – however, it does start to paint a picture of the kind of almost-middle-aged idiot they were currently dealing with.
(Side note: I might like to do idiotic things in the name of family fun – but I really wish healthy folk knew how much rest, pacing and isolation is involved in the PEM ‘busts’ that follow each magnificent ‘boom’.)
Sprain vs M.E
Anyways, the good news is that no bones were broke; the bad news is I have sprained my tendons and ligaments. Accordingly, I left the hospital wearing one of those massive black boots, aided by a set of crutches. Not that you would ever know that, from looking at me now. Honestly, that black boot is fucking magic. The doctor said I’d be fine in about two weeks, but really … it was closer to two days before I could walk again unaided. I mean sure, there’s still some swelling, bruising and soreness – but it’s really not that bad as long as I don’t walk any great distance.
My ability to walk again has happened so quickly that I’m starting to wonder if the whole accident was just a figment of my imagination. That, and whether everyone in my life now thinks I was faking the severity of my injury – which I honestly wasn’t!
This all happened last week and although my foot is fine and dandy again now (would I like fries with my excessive optimism and palpable denial? Oooh, lovely – don’t mind if I do!) – I did of course, have a brutal post-exertional ME ‘bust’ to deal with after my most magnificent ‘boom.’ I can honestly say I felt like absolute shit: terrible sleep, nausea, bone-crippling fatigue and other increased symptoms of ME. Dealing with this was FAR worse than dealing with my injury, without a shadow of a doubt.
No regrets
But weirdly, I have no regrets. Because, lying in my sick bed with a smile on my face, remembering the time I did something so fun and hilariously stupid whilst making memories with my boy – is a massive step up for me. There was a time when my ME was so severe that I could only dream of having the energy to be this kind of stupid. A time when the only wheels I could ride were the ones attached to my electric wheelchair – on the rare occasions I could leave the house (usually for medical appointments). Knowing that I am never safe from an ME/POTS relapse, my life is now full of gratitude (and occasional stupidity) for what I can do, with zero regrets.
And now, I get to say I hurt myself doing something mega cool.
… Because, ‘skateboarding injury’ sounds way better than, ‘I tripped on my laces because I’m so old that I should really consider going back to Velcro.’
There’s life in the old girl yet! 😅
