Trapped

2020 has changed me in so many ways. At the beginning of the year, I thought I would just go through it like I did every other year. Nothing new. Nothing exciting. Just working. Boy, was I wrong.

It was St. Patrick’s Day, and the day started out normal. I went through the entire day working my usual shift at my everyday job. After my shift had ended, I picked up some dinner from Sonic, then went back to my apartment to unwind. Something I do on a regular basis. In fact, because I was going through my ordinary day with a numb mind, I didn’t even realize it was St. Patrick’s Day until later on in the evening. Regardless, my plans for that night were to relax, eat my comfort food, watch some YouTube videos, then go to bed. After filling my stomach with some pleasantly guilty food, I felt the urge to listen to some music. I placed my beats headphones comfortably over my ears then started up a song on my phone. I don’t remember the name of the song, but it was upbeat and quick in tempo. Enough to get me dancing. I decided to take the trash out. However, the outfit I was wearing wasn’t appropriate to step outside. I went into my bedroom to change clothes. I pulled on my tall boot socks that went up to my calf, then slid my skin-tight jeans over them. All while I was dancing.

I moved into the bathroom, where I felt myself get lost in the music. As I was heading out of the bathroom into the bedroom, I decided to do a high kick—big mistake. With a loud crack, my whole body crumples to the floor—blinding pain courses through my entire left leg. My mind goes black. My breath quickens. I cry, but no tears fall. I am in a blend of terror and pain. After a minute of sitting there and panicking, I grab my phone and decide to call my parents. Hoping to have someone with a clear mind tell me what to do. My mom answers.

“I was dancing, and I fell, and my whole leg hurts.”

“Okay. Can you stand up?”

“No. I can’t move my leg.”

I am crying on the phone with my mother as she tries to calm me down. I hear her talking to someone I’m assuming is either my father or my older brother. After a few minutes, I listen to her speak to me.

“Can you send me a picture of your ankle?”

“Yeah.”

I pull the phone away from my ear, then tap into my camera to turn it on. I snap a picture of my ankle covered by my sock and jeans. I send the picture to my mom then place the phone back on my ear. After a few minutes, my mom speaks.

“Okay. I can’t really see anything. Can you maybe carefully lift your pant leg and remove your sock?”

“I can’t, mom! I’m wearing skinny jeans!”

I feel the anxiety become incredibly overwhelming as I practically scream into the phone.

“Calm down, honey. I would just call 911. There is a chance the paramedics might have to cut you out of your jeans.”

I didn’t care. All that was going through my mind was how I needed help. I thanked my mother for her help then hung up the phone. Before I dialed the emergency number, I sent my boyfriend two text messages.

“Help.”

“I’m calling an ambulance.”

I proceeded to dial 911, then placed the phone on my ear. After a few rings, I hear the operator.

“911, how can I help you?”

“Hello. I fell, and I can’t move my leg.”

I hear nothing.

“Hello?”

Still nothing. I look at my phone and see that the call was dropped. I lost the signal. I looked and saw my modem was sitting on the corner of my desk in my living room. Green lights were flashing from it, indicating it was working like normal. So how did I lose service? Thinking it was a problem with my phone, I turn it off. That was when it occurred to me that the paramedics were going to need to get into my apartment to get to me. However, the door was locked. Using my hands and my good leg, I scooted myself through the bedroom, out the door into the living room, across the living room floor, past my pet rabbit’s area and the dining room table then sat with my back facing the door. I reached up and flipped both latches on my door. I sat and turned on my phone again, hoping to get a signal. When I saw some bars, I placed a call into 911 again.

I don’t remember the entirety of the call, but I do know that I explained to the 911 operator that I needed the paramedics because I fell and I couldn’t get up. After a few minutes, the dispatcher let me go. I placed a call to my boyfriend to explain to him the whole situation since I figured my two vague texts must have scared him to death. In the middle of my call with my boyfriend, two gentlemen entered my apartment. They were the Fire and Rescue team. I explained to them the situation, and one of the gentlemen was able to get my pants and sock off where I saw my left ankle was the size of a baseball. The gentlemen at the time told me it might be a sprain, but they’ll perform an x-ray at the hospital to check it out once the paramedics arrived.

My boyfriend was still on the phone with me as the ordeal was happening. At the same time, he was explaining the situation to his parents, which urged him to head to the hospital. Now, I know what you’re thinking. Why not have your parents come to the hospital? Well, I live in a different state, six hours away from my parents. The only people I knew that were close to me was my boyfriend and his family. And he was an hour and a half away. I had urged him not to come to the hospital because it was about nine o’clock at night, and he was still pretty far from me. But he insisted and was about to leave the house.

Meanwhile, back at my apartment, the paramedics had arrived and were trying to figure out the best thing to do to help me to my feet. A female paramedic had asked me if there was a specific type of pants that I wanted to wear since the whole time I had the paramedics and fire and rescue present, I was almost naked from the waist down. I asked her to get me a pair of sweatpants, then she disappeared into my bedroom. She reappeared a few minutes later with the pants while the two gentlemen from the Fire and Rescue team, along with the paramedics, helped me to my feet. They helped me wiggle my way into my sweatpants, then helped me hop out the door of my apartment, where there was a stretcher waiting for me directly on the other side. I struggled a bit as I turned to sit on the stretcher. When I carefully swung my foot around to rest it on the flat surface, I felt a bit of popping from my limp left ankle. This sensation caused me to cry out in panic as my mind was screaming at me. That’s not a sprain. Something was seriously wrong. I tried to sit back against the stretcher and watched as they wheeled me into an ambulance.

The ride to the hospital was beyond excruciating. I texted both of my managers at work and let them know what was going on. I then spoke with a male paramedic. It was small talk with a bit of questions he had asked me to get some personal information about me. All the while, my mind was in a state of worry about how my managers were going to react following the text I sent.

When we got to the hospital, all I could comprehend was being wheeled into a side area and was told to wait while they brought around an x-ray machine. The waiting was probably the worst part about this whole experience. The longer I was left there, the more time I had to mentally process everything that had happened. And that was where I felt the weight of it all start to sink in. The fear about my job. The pain and worry about my leg. The animosity towards myself for doing something so seemingly reckless and getting myself in the situation. The immense guilt about my boyfriend driving an hour and a half to the hospital. With that thought at the forefront of my mind, I sent him a voice message, urging him to not come. Once again, he wouldn’t listen. He wanted to be there for me to make sure I was okay. To take care of me because he knew of the fear that was consuming my mind. It made me appreciate him on a whole new level.

Finally, the nurse brought a strange machine that took pictures of my ankle. Then I was told to wait again while they looked at the x-rays. As frustrating as the waiting was, it did give me even more of a chance to mull things over and calm my mind. Though that would prove to be futile.

Finally, the nurse wheeled me into another room, where I met with a doctor that explained to me the results of my x-rays.

My left ankle was broken in two places.

To make matters worse, he told me I might need ankle surgery.

I have never had surgery in my entire life. I never wanted to put myself in a position where I would need that. But when that was brought to my attention, I felt a new fear wash over me. However, the doctor said “might.” So maybe I would get away with no surgery. He wrapped my ankle in a splint while explaining that I needed to set up an appointment with an orthopedic specialist. He then left to get me some papers that would list the number of a specialist he recommended while getting myself discharged. The second after he left the room, I saw my boyfriend appear in the doorway. Upon seeing him, I felt the tears pour down my face.

Hey everyone! I’m actually going to end this here and make it into a two-part explanation of what happened to me in 2020. This is a lot to explain and difficult for me to write. Especially this part. I actually started on this post in November of 2020 but went back and forth on whether I wanted to finish it and post it or scrap it altogether. What made this even more challenging to work on was the fact that the emotions were still fresh on my mind since this had happened not long from when I first started writing this. Now that some time has passed since this experience, I’m feeling confident enough to finish this half to share it with you guys and help shed some light on some of the significant changes that have happened to me in the last year. If you want to see the second part, stay tuned, feel free to follow me on social media, or even subscribe to this blog where you will get those updates. (at least, I hope this is how this works. I’m still new to this whole site-building adventure) Thank you so much for your patience and support.