or ... how I learned not to prophesize . . .
(My how lofty that sounds!) This is a brief post to relate some news.
Thursday, December 2, was A.'s birthday. Birthdays in the Motherworks-Flavius household tend to be well celebrated family affairs. We have not typically gone in for the large elementary school gathering that I grew up with, but we do tend to stretch out these natal celebrations for a full week. The school parties, the home gatherings, the grandparent celebrations . . . it is a big deal. I tend to make 2 or sometimes 3 desserts for these multiple birthday party week's festivities. All of this is to cover over that there will not likely be 50 gifts from little friends, a material explosion from family members, a pre-Christmas Christmas (and even then presents aren't the prominent feature of that holiday either). We do not run short on the singing, the celebrating, and the feasting (as best we can during a fast such as the Nativity Fast).
With some sisterly help A. planned her meal and picked out her cake. She asked if we could celebrate at my mother's and Gran readily consented. So I baked a cake, Mr. Flavius wound up his work day, and the children prepared to go a'celebrating. The cake was a tall, three layered, chocolate affair covered in raspberries, filled with raspberries, and smothered in chocolate. Seeing as we would be traveling to mother's I plated the dessert and went searching for a cake cover. I spied with my little eye a glass cake dome that I inherited from my grandmother. Perfect. I grabbed a chair (a well built, sturdy chair of generous proportions and counter-heighth) and proceeded to try and fetch the dome. Alas! It was too high and so I set about climbing down from my perch to ask Mr. Flavius to obtain the object for for when . . . the chair went sideways. Even now, it seems beyond physics that it could have turned sideways, but it did. My foot slipped between the rungs of the chair as I fell without a cry toward the ground. Somehow things were twisted and wrenched and slammed and snapped. Specifically my tibia was torqued and snapped and my fibula apparently tore through flesh to make up for the extra pressure and science of my circumstances. I landed as though I had leapt to my stead from the balcony of a saloon and I was preparing to get out of town.
I did not pass out or faint or cry out or go into shock. I knew from the pain that my ankle was broken. I glanced down, the grave injury hidden by my pant leg, and saw blood on the ground. As Providence would provide, I landed in front of the telephone. I immediately called 911, explained that I was need an ambulance and then laid down on the ground to wait.
Since then I have had 2 surgeries and an 8 day stay in the hospital. I am currently at my parents' home recuperating. I will write more and update you as time allows. But I did want to thank everyone for all their prayers, gifts, well, wishes, and support.
This broken leg has turned out to be a gift of many blessings. I hope to adequately relate them to you in the near future.