So comics people aren’t always known for being super duper active. Or maybe that’s more of a stereotype. In any case, I do like to do things that involve the “outside”, like walking my dog or maybe playing kickball if there’s people up for it, or swimming. The opportunity for indoor rock climbing came up at my job for last Friday, and I was all “Heck yeah, Imma be climbing like a spider monkey.” I’d only done rock climbing once before in high school, and I remembered it being really awesome.
There happened to be enough discount tickets that the illustrious James Hornsby of Botchedspot fame could go with me and my work chums, so he got to tag along (as the story goes, you will see this was quite a lucky matter to have happen). We received instructions on how to use our harnesses and the various spots with auto-rappelling ropes available. These were quite fun! I also tried having a belayer, which meant a friend on the ground was securely attached to me as I climbed up a different rock face. This, too, was also quite fun!
At the front of the facility was a wall known as the bouldering wall, which was maybe 10 feet tall or so and surrounded by a cushy mat. The instructions for bouldering were simple: there’s no rope attaching to your harness, you just climb. When you want to get down, you jump specifically with both feet below you and do not through your arms out. Land with both feet. Pretty straight-forward.
However, when I followed these instructions from my maybe-four-feet-up jump, as both feet hit the mat at the same time, the right let gave out and there was a noise I won’t try to describe to you because it was a very, very, very bad sounding noise.
Luckily, I had the puts-on-a-brave-face-in-fronta-broken-legs James there and several work friends who talked me through the whole “Holy crap I broke something” shock and kept the ice packs coming from the front desk of the facility. When the EMTs arrived and asked if I liked my jeans because they’d have to cut them to support my leg, I was like “Well, I guess I don’t like them all that much today.” After clearing the building and getting to the ambulance, a safe distance from all the small children who were rock climbing and not breaking limbs, I let out a string of swear words that woulda made the saltiest of sailor-types blush.
The shortest version of the doctor’s prognosis is this: I broke my tibia and fibula in several places, enough that the docs said “Boy howdy, you need a titanium rod down there for the rest of your life. But you can’t have surgery tonight because you ate, so here’s a giant splint and stay still until surgery in the morning.” The surgery went well, and I received many flowers, cards, toys and the like from people who wanted me to feel better. I’ve just finished week one of three weeks with no weight on the healing leg, which is a feat considering I had to get assistance getting up three flights of stairs to my apartment. In about two weeks, I have a doctor visit to let me know how much weight it can have, plus some physical therapy for a while.
So between the crutches with the air-cast boot and my bathroom outfitted with a boosted toilet seat with handlebars and a shower seat, I’m channeling my inner hapless baby mixed with 90 year old lady.
Luckily for the comic, I’ve had updates scheduled through this chapter for some time, and am getting myself situated so that I can use laptops while having my leg propped up proper. It’s just a matter of being careful.
Mind you, I might have forgotten to mention that the day this happened was a Friday the 13th. I’m not normally a Friday the 13th paranoid type, but I guess now I have a reason. Other co-workers questioned our sanity for rock-climbing on a Friday the 13th, but I brushed it off. I suppose now I know better. I already promised both my husband and my grandpa that I won’t rock climb again. I shall replace it with building pony models, I suppose.