In a Heartbeat

As we were finishing up our plans to visit Bryce Canyon, I was forcibly reminded of how life can change course in a heartbeat.

One moment, I was getting ready to make our hotel reservation in Las Vegas, the next, I was sprawled on the living room floor, having caught my foot wrong on the step into the sunken area. My bad, I was looking down at the reservation page open on my phone instead of watching where I was putting my feet. *sigh*

I got lucky. A few ginger movements of my right foot told me I'd strained some ligaments, but hadn't seriously injured my ankle. But. In two days, I'd planned to be hiking the trails in the canyon, and such trails are not possible to walk with a messed up foot. *another sigh*

It was my own stupid fault, but I didn't give up hope. Perhaps, if I was an adult and followed the prescription for maximum healing (which hasn't changed since I took health class in seventh grade), I'd be able to salvage something from the trip.

Rest - check - Good thing I wasn't planning on driving, given that it was my right foot I'd injured.
Ice - check - Kate keeps a good supply of cold packs in her freezer.
Compression - check - a quick trip to CVS bought me a good ankle wrap
Elevation - this one was a bit trickier, given the confines of the back seat of a car, but I did my best.

To my surprise, adulting and following the above guidelines worked. I limited my excursions, and stayed on the canyon's rim the first evening we arrived and for the next morning's walk. I knew I had just one shot to take the hike into the depths of the canyon, and wanted to heal up as best I could before making the attempt. 

The Force was with me, and by that fourth day, I was well enough, with the help of my hiking poles, to head down the trail. *whew!*

As I walked through the impossible beauty of the canyon, my thoughts wandered to those I know whose stories didn't end so neatly. Whose lives have been upended by similar missteps, who were tossed into a maze of pain, surgeries, pins, and limited movement for months and years (not days).

Life is fragile.

I don't think I needed the reminder that my current (mostly) carefree and healthy state will come to an end; awareness I have crested age's hill is my near-constant companion. But I got smacked with it anyways. 

Today is the only day I have. At its end, I will sleep better if I have honored its fleeting beauty. I'll try to remember that.