And then God said, "Seriously, Johanna, you need to slow down."

Today was the first day in weeks that Michael and I haven't had any responsibilities. We didn't have a wedding, or go to a wedding, or go to the doctor, or close on a house, or pack up a house, or unpack a house, or host overnight guests, or frantically try to get the house ready for those guests. Last night we marveled, thinking about today, that we might do some unpacking just because we wanted to. We dreamed about going to some yard sales together (Michael actually did, and scored a movie projector so he can watch and transfer some old movies from his childhood!). I thought we might have some waffles for brunch.

But I got an email saying that the soccer team for which I am a sub needed some players for the game at 8:30 this morning. As you know, I have missed soccer, and took the opportunity to run around, get some exercise, and get out some of the week's emotions on the field. I figured I would wake, play the game, and be back about 10, just in time for waffles with my husband.

The first part went as planned. I played a good solid 20 minutes.

And then God said, "Seriously, Johanna? Well, I know how to slow you down a bit."

I wanted that ball just as much and at the same time as a girl on the other team, and we kicked it at the same time, and I heard two pops, and then I was on my hands and knees in a fair amount of pain, wanting to throw up. Someone must have helped me up, and supported me as I hobbled off the field, and I plopped on the sideline while someone fetched some ice. Dang it.

I stayed for the rest of the game, trying to convince myself that maybe I could even go back in, but knowing I wouldn't, probably for the rest of the season. As (un)luck would have it, since I didn't know exactly which of the three fields the game would be on, I had managed to park in the furthest possible parking spot. So off I hobbled. Texted Michael what happened, decided I could drive (even though it is my right foot that is hurt), chose the route of least stoplights, and headed home to my caring husband, who greeted me shaking his head, as I joked about the whole situation. He helped me get my cleats and shin guards off. "Wow, it's so swollen," he said, and I assured him that's how feet are supposed to look - I really believe it, too, until we compared.

Oh. So the day's plans became going to Urgent Care.

The doctor seemed hopeful that it wasn't too bad, maybe a grade 2 sprain, could be fine again in a couple weeks. We did an xray, and now he came in saying, "Well, I hoped your xray would be totally normal, but..." Turns out there is a little bone chip floating around in there, "like a little potato chip." Probably that's where the ligament was attached the bone, and the ligament was stronger and pulled that little piece of bone off with it. So he gave me the number for an orthopedic doctor to see next week. Yippee, just what I wanted was more doctors appointments. At least, I got this cool sticker:

Worth the price of admission. (Which, since I already well met my out of pocket cap this year, was free! Thanks, breast cancer!) So they sent me home with a nice chunky splint, some crutches, the RICE acronym (Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevation), a glow in the dark sticker, and at least some of my pride. I had insisted that during all this, Michael go to the yard sales he had found (I'm a big girl, after all, and quite familiar with the doctor scene), so I had to wait a few minutes for him to return. From my wheelchair in the waiting room, I could see the TV, which someone had turned to a soccer game - literally adding insult to injury.

Before I left this morning, I made a do-to list for today. It included some errands, some chores, usual day-off stuff. Instead, I sat on the couch all afternoon watching How I Met Your Mother on Netflix, with a very happy Dachshund cuddling me (he has now been displaced the computer on my lap, but happily found a place wedged between me and the back of the couch). I could have written the 50-some wedding thank you notes I need to write. I could have caught up on some reading. But I didn't. I just sat here, while Michael worked on his movie project downstairs, getting me water or Advil or ice whenever I called for it.

A couple observations. First, I was in pretty high spirits about this all the way through. I mean, it's a drag, and for someone who is already pretty clumsy, crutches certainly don't help. But a sprained ankle is so not a big deal, compared to, say, a mastectomy. So, it definitely could be worse.

The other thing is that I couldn't help but notice that the time they thought I would need to heal is just about as long as I have before my mastectomy. Not longer - if I'm good, I won't have to be dealing with crutches after major surgery. But it certainly is long enough to force me to rest for this one free day that we have before yet another crazy week (which, mercifully, is mostly busy with sitting down jobs). And long enough to force me to move more slowly for a couple of weeks - no rushing around for me!

Just long enough to force me to rest before this big, emotional surgery that I have been struggling with this week in particular. I hate that my foot hurts, I really do. I hate that I am probably out for the soccer season, after playing only two halves of games. I hate crutches. I hate that I am suddenly not as self sufficient as I am accustomed to being.

But I love that I am being forced to slow down, because Lord knows I wouldn't have otherwise. I love that moving more slowly is going to give me more space to find peace and breath. I love that after 25 years of playing soccer, the very first time I ever got injured was right after I got married, when I have someone to look at me with concerned eyes, and say, "Poor girl..." and drive me to urgent care (and whether he realizes it yet or not, to two churches tomorrow!), and help me up and down the stairs. I love that cancer has calloused me enough that I can take all of this with a good attitude and know that things will be just fine... and to some extent, this helps me also look at the mastectomy and realize that it, too, will be just fine.

(And to sweeten the deal, Michael is going to order us delivery tonight! Score! Life ain't bad!)

Happy Dachshund on the couch.