How it happened.

I'm a member of a co-ed softball team in Atlanta called "Glove 'Em & Leave 'Em." My teammates are great guys and girls that have played together for 10+ years. I was recruited to replace a teammate who became pregnant (and who we really miss!). (She's a Baylor alumna and I met her at a Baylor watch-party).

I've played about 1.5 seasons with them, and the "fateful" game was only #2 of this new season! I really enjoy playing softball every week, even though my skills aren't stunning. In fact, my goal for every game is to not be the worst player! My teammates are awesome athletes who take the game seriously and have great skills, but are always having fun and keeping the mood light. It really is the perfect combination, when we can get our juices flowing.

Anyway, back to the story. I was was walked to first base. A runner was ahead of me on second base. The batter hit the ball to the outfield and I ran to second base. The runner ahead of me decided to touch third base and head to home plate. As the outfielder threw the ball to home plate, I decided to continue on to third base. I was pretty sure I could make it because the catcher at home plate hadn't caught many balls during the game. I figured he would miss the ball, giving me ample time to make it to third.

I was about half-way to third base when the catcher caught the ball and threw it to the third baseman. I stopped in my tracks and turned around to head back to second base. I almost made it there when I felt myself lose my balance and start to fall. As I fell towards second base, I felt my right ankle turn and heard a loud "pop."

Immediately, I knew something was wrong. I felt no pain but sat stunned and in shock at what I'd heard. The play ended and I sat motionless, waiting for the official to notice that something wasn't right. Players from both teams came over to help. I was actually waiting for someone else to say that they heard a "pop" from my foot area, but no one mentioned anything, so I guess I was the only one. I kept saying to the people around me that, "I heard something pop". Someone asked if I could move my foot, which I could, and then said that was a good sign because it meant that my foot wasn't broken (which, by the way, isn't true. You can break a bone(s) in your foot and probably still be able to move it without a ton of pain).

The guys helped me up. I tried to put weight on my foot and winced when it touched the ground. So I was carried off the field and sat in the dugout until the end of the game. Sitting and waiting for the end of the game was probably one of the more painful moments of this injury. I wasn't able to go anywhere and couldn't ice my foot or elevate it without getting completely covered in dirt. I only had to wait about 10-15 minutes, but it felt like forever. One of the guys then carried me to my car, piggy-back style, and I was confident that I was in good enough condition to drive home (haha).

I could move my right foot (the injured one) to point and flex without pain, but couldn't move it from side to side. So I used my right foot to accelerate and my left foot for the break. Taking it slowly, I made it home safely without incident. In hindsight, however, it wasn't a great plan. Once I got home, getting up a flight of stairs to my apartment was a long, painful process. I literally crawled on my hands and feet, or inch wormed on my rear, the whole way. I was able to make an ice pack from my freezer and crawl into bed to begin icing and elevating my foot.

I took off my right shoe for the first time and started to freak out when I saw the size of my ankle. It had swollen to about a baseball-sized bulge, and I started to cry and feel a little nauseous. I also felt like my foot or ankle was partially dislocated--not in a painful sense, but I just knew that something wasn't right. Anxious to tell someone, I decided to call my brother Thomas in NYC. I told him what happened and he told me to immediately call my parents. I didn't want to call them initially because I wanted to make sure my situation was worth worrying them. But after Thomas threatened to call them for me, I decided to do it myself. My parents and I agreed that I needed to get x-rays of my foot the in the morning. A friend delivered me crutches from the pastor's wife, so I became a little more mobile that night.

The next day, my sweet friend drove me to an nearby urgent care center (North Atlanta Urgent Care). I was seen within 20 minutes of walking in the door and told Dr. Ferrara what happened. The "pop" I had heard concerned him as well, and he ordered 5 x-rays of my ankle and foot. Minutes later, I was getting x-rays done. The doctor examined them and confirmed that I had broken something–my right ankle. The lower part of my fibula was broken, but fortunately, it was a clean break. He referred me to a specialist (orthopedic surgeon) but said that, most likely, I would not need surgery. They put my foot in a splint and sent me crutching out the door. (By the way, North Atlanta Urgent Care is a great place to go if you have a minor emergency. My entire trip there, from entry to exit, was less than 1.5 hrs, and the doctors were great)

Well, that's a long update. I'll finish up the rest tomorrow. But that's the gist of the it.