Broken Ankle, Broken Trust, Broken Dreams

ankle bones imageI finally went to get an X-ray of the ankle I twisted 4 months ago, back in September, that still hurts and bothers me so much. Yes, it was broken. I broke the medial malleolus – the inside part of the ankle ‘pin.’ I swear it never hurt like it was broken.

The bone is fused back together now, but (of course) a little bit crooked, and there’s a bone spur on the inside, too. So, my ankle is permanently fucked up. 

And, so is my trust in pretty much anything, or anybody. This happened because insurance is just a bloodsucking scam. I pay those greedy motherfuckers thousands of dollars a year. In return, in the extremely rare event that I get hurt and need medical care, I get bills for hundreds more for co-pays, deductibles, and office fees. This happened, because I’ve learned that most people’s kindness is really just a trojan horse. This happened, because I knew goddamned well that if I actually took the time off work needed to really take care of myself, I would lose my job.
Not that I actually “saved” my job by sacrificing my body, anyway. The amount of pressure and complaints, and additional workload heaped upon me, as I was hobbling around on crutches trying my hardest but not doing very well, pretty much destroyed any perception of job quality I might have entertained. Nobody cares how much pain I’m in, they only care that their shit gets done. I still like the work I do, but now I largely despise my situation. I’m looking for a different job. 

The fucked-up-ness of my ankle won’t stop me from playing footbag; it’s not quite that bad. But it’s still a permanent injury, that’s going to be a source of constant pain, and early onset arthritis. It’s still having to literally re-train my body to work correctly, when it’s broken and not healed up right. I’ll never really get back to where I was; that place got nuked off the fucking map. 

I have a crooked pinky finger on my left hand, too. It symbolizes the last injury I had, that helped cause my last job to go to shit, that never healed right because I got nothing but people being pissed at me for being hurt and unable to do what everyone expected of me. It still aches sometimes, and makes me sad and angry every time I feel it, or see it. If I were rich, I’d probably try to have it fixed. But the only thing I can actually afford is to notice it almost every day, and be reminded of just how mean and nasty and uncaring people were to me, in that situation. 

Today, I don’t know how I’ll be able to play footbag, without thinking about the fact that my ankle is broken and not healed right. Footbag used to be a magical land of happiness for me. I could go there, and replenish my soul with joy. Now, that joy will always be tainted with a reminder of the anger and sadness of this fucked up experience that gave me this fucked up ankle. Of all things, that hurts the most. 

Broken ankle, broken trust, broken dreams. 
Before I close this post, I should at least reconcile my footbag time. Yes, I have played every week so far this year: in pain, for at least short periods of time. The tally isn’t exactly accurate, but I’m calling it an hour a week so far, for 3 hours total for the year. Losing a half hour a week against my goal, every week, is pretty depressing. 
I have no idea how long this will last, or whether I’ll be able to get out and kick on Speakers Circle like I used to. Getting to do that was part of my formerly “good” job, which has been replaced by the same work, but in a shitty, oppressive, distrustful atmosphere. 
I wish I had better news, or a more uplifting post. But… I’m still hurting. Sorry peeps. 

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