Sometimes, an Ankle is More than an Ankle

a very short essay

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Thirty-eight days ago, I severely injured my ankle. For the first week, the pain was so intense that I needed opiod painkillers. I probably should’ve taken those pain pills for another week, at least to sleep, but I was extremely wary of the medicine’s addictive properties.

Some studies have also shown that opiods can ignite manic episodes for people with bipolar disorder like me. And I’m also a recovering alcoholic who needs to be careful with any potentially addictive substance. I’ve been sober for thirty-three years but there’s no cure for alcoholism—there’s only the disciplined maintenance of sobreity.

As with everything else in my life, I can joke about it.

I don’t feel intense pain in my ankle anymore. I don’t feel any pain unless I’m using the foot. And the pain of use is beginning to lessen, as well. I’m getting better.

Today, I went to gym for the first time since my injury. With my trainer’s supervision, I worked my arms with dumbbells while only doing careful body weight exercises with my recovering ankle.

These ankle exercises were prescribed by my physical therapist (PT), whom I saw for the first time last Friday. I’d had to wait for my insurance to approve an MRI that revealed the full extent of my multiple injuries. And I’d also had to wait for PT until my severe pain subsided.

While working with my PT, she said two things that are resonating with me.

She said, “Healing is uncomfortable.”

And she said, “We need to change your brain’s opinion of your injury.”

So, now, I’m quite aware that my PT’s statements apply to every physical, emotional, and spiritual wound that I carry with me.