Confined to a quasi La-Z-Boy and Crutch-Challenged: An Unexpected Pause
Sometimes life throws you a curveball, hard and fast.
Who would have thought that attending a food event would end in an ankle fracture, sidelining me at home for several weeks, a forced hiatus from our Michelin journey and all foodie events, at least for now.
One misstep, and my world shifted. I had never understood how much a leg carries us literally and figuratively, until mine was broken. Yet even in this pause, I am lucky: the fracture was clean, and the path to healing, though slowed, is hopefully relatively brief.
It all happened yesterday morning at a restaurant in BGC.
I was carrying a plate, about to take it outside to shoot in natural daylight. I was focused on opening the heavy door and felt relieved when I managed to do it without dropping anything. But as I pivoted, I missed a half-step. That’s when my ankle twisted—and fractured.
I heard the almost instantaneous crack, followed by an explosion of pain. Thank goodness the tables and chairs outside were close enough for support; otherwise, I would have fallen. In that moment, I knew this wasn’t just a simple sprain. A fracture was very possible.
I was with fellow foodie friends and the restaurant hosts, who immediately rushed to help. I was bawling from the pain. They helped remove my sneakers, and saw that my ankle was already swelling. The BGC medic team arrived quickly and took over with impressive efficiency—cold compress, bandaging, vital signs. They offered to take me to St. Luke’s via ambulance… for free! Galing!
It was also fortunate that my husband went with me to BGC for his morning walk while waiting for me to finish my meet up
And just like that, I was whisked away in an ambulance straight to St. Luke’s ER, hubby by my side.
X-rays confirmed it: a complete spiral fracture of the fibula. After some waiting, the orthopedic doctor arrived and placed a splint on my ankle for support. He explained that a cast couldn’t be applied yet because the swelling from the trauma still needed to subside. A follow-up consult and evaluation were scheduled seven days later.
Week’s worth of plans and carefully laid-out schedules went down the drain.
At home , navigating the stairs
One look at our stairs, and I realized life had just gotten a lot more complicated. Moving in and out of the car alone felt like an uphill battle when the splint held your left leg immobile and doesn’t allow you to bend your knees.
Our three-story home, once effortless, had become a series of small but formidable challenges. Each flight of stairs a reminder of how much I rely on my legs every day.
At moments like this, I really wish we had an elevator.
Handsome hubs and son #2 bravely attempted to lift all 125 lbs of me by my armpits. Noble effort but painful, awkward, and frankly confusing. I didn’t know where to place my stiff, splinted left leg while going up the stairs, and every attempt sent a jolt of pain shooting through me.
So I waved the white flag.
I told them I’d just sit on the steps and pull myself up instead.
It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t easy. But step by step—literally—I managed to scoot my way up until I reached the patio, where my husband and son #2 were finally able to help me stand using the crutch.
Crutch-Challenged
Ah yes. The crutch.
I’ve now come to terms with the fact that I am officially crutch-challenged.
“Crutch-challenged” isn’t a medical term, of course. It’s my own way of describing the struggle of figuring out how to move, balance, and exist with these awkward metal sticks. Using them is physically uncomfortable, mentally exhausting, and surprisingly technical. Where do your hands go? How do you move without tipping over? How do you manage stairs, tight spaces, or sudden fatigue?
Crutches demand coordination, upper body strength, and patience which I’m in very low supply of. Yet despite all the frustration, they are also a lifeline: an imperfect but necessary support that allows some form of independence when your lower extremity suddenly betrays you.
For now, I’m learning. Slowly. Carefully. One crutch-assisted step at a time.
In the meantime
I’ve relocated temporarily to our most comfortable reclining chair actually better than La-Z_Boy I think, which has officially become mission control, dining area, and observation deck in one.
The silver lining? I’ve perfected the art of balancing coffee, snacks, lunch, dinner and my phone all within arm’s reach. Productivity, but make it seated.
I’m also discovering that healing comes with unexpected treasures : time ( tons of it) , patience (still working on that), gratitude for strong arms ( hubs and our boys) loving care from the handsomest hubs in the world (!) and a newfound respect for anyone who navigates life on crutches daily , you are the real MVPs.
The Michelin journey may be on pause, but the storytelling isn’t. If life insists on slowing me down, I might as well sit back, elevate my leg, and write my way through it.
After all, this reclining chair and matte-silver-crutches and I have a few weeks to get to know each other.
Pigoutmanila 