Misadventure... part 1

I want to preface this tale with a note that I am tough and stubborn. Years ago I began using the phrase “I’m durable” when others expressed concern after I fell/banged/collided/crashed/etc. Bruises are not a big deal to me; I am usually sporting more than one.

The week before Halloween I was in bibliophile mode, trying to gather resources, knowledge and inspiration for a proposal that I had to write. Leaving the biomedical library one night, I accidentally closed the campus shuttle van door on my leg. I did not realize that my right foot was still on the running board and not the inner step, when I pulled the door shut. Feeling quite foolish I pulled my leg inside the van without saying anything.
Once home I gazed upon my swollen ankle with its lovely bruise. I iced and elevated it that night and off-and-on over the next few days. The swelling resolved, the bruise shifted through a rainbow of colors, and it became less painful. I figured that it was just a nasty bruise.

The department where I work has an annual Winter Formal. It’s a lovely event. After dinner and the drawings for the door-prizes the older faculty and their families leave. That’s when the real fun begins—several hours of dancing, with drinks and desserts available for those who need to rest or refuel. One of the guys who works down the hall and I danced quite a bit. I succeeded in getting another colleague to dance--more accurately, to come to the edge of the dance floor and bob along to the rhythm of the music--but for him that’s good enough. By the end of the night my ankle was aching. I tried to ignore it.
When it was still aching the next day, and hurting more when I walked on it, I decided that it probably needed proper medical attention. So, I weighed the options of when and where I could get it examined (by which I mean getting it x-rayed). Eventually, I took myself to the university hospital’s Emergency Department, across the street from where I work.

To be continued…