Lessons from a Broken Foot

Scene: Thanksgiving table, full of old and newer friends, Santa Barbara. Fresh squeezed pomegranate martinis with a cheese course gave way to a perfect turkey and tasty sides, and delicious pies.

I don't have a lot of persistent rituals in my life. I grew up with a handful of traditions mostly grounded in religion. Thanksgiving is distinct. My mother's birthday falls on Thanksgiving's earliest date, and mine on the latest. We celebrated our birthdays jointly, with family on Thanksgiving, usually with two cakes. As I got older many friends were understandably committed to spend my birthday with their families. And then for years I cooked, and hosted, and otherwise enjoyed time connecting over delicious meals with good people in my life, including and beyond biological family.

This year my heart was particularly full. 

I fell in love earlier this year with a lovely gent. We decided to spend Thanksgiving visiting his family and friends in Southern California, a first for me, and welcomed as we continued a year spent in different places, mostly avoiding cold weather.

And then, I actually fell, for real. Like, I missed half a step at the end of a flight of stairs. I quickly got back on my feet, finished my intended visit to the bathroom, and returned to the table for an open-hearted and sweet series of personal shares, about what we were grateful for. Friendships deepened and formed. More tasty bites and sips. Another trip to the bathroom.

Something was clearly amiss with my foot.

I used the loo and instead of returning upstairs, sat in bed with my foot propped up, reflecting. After a while passed my beau checked on me and discovered the swelling concern. I asked him to give my best to everyone, and decided to turn in, hoping that some ibuprofen and a long sleep would restore. 

I woke up on my birthday, in pain, and with plans to go whale watching. After celebratory banana muffins, and a stop at the pharmacy for arnica and compression tape, I found myself hobbling along a pier and onto a vessel with a few dozen other hopeful spout spotters. Over half a day experiencing a mystical, beautiful environment between islands and the mainland, we saw some lovely humpback flukes and lots of cute sea lions and seals.

After another day of elevation and suffering, I realized things with the foot weren't trending hopefully, and spent most of a day at a pleasant and understaffed urgent care center. X-rays confirmed a spiral fracture of a metatarsal. I was grateful that my insurance would cover the visit. 

I had lived for one day shy of 53 years, and never broken a bone. Until I did. 

Flashback: 48hrs before Thanksgiving and the (Not So) Great Fall of 2025. Parked at a post office off a rural highway, for a business call about a new collaboration with the American Society on Aging. I shared a formative experience, nearly 15yrs ago, working with the Disability Rights Fund, and internalizing on a deeper level that any one of us can experience a disabling event, at any time. Those words were theoretical for me, until they weren't. 

Over the past month I have learned some things.

Embrace humility. Falling can be embarrassing; and, it happens. Using crutches or hobbling on a heel is inelegant. Accepting what I cannot change and recognizing my limitations offer more doses of humility, in a life with plenty of it. 

Accept help. In the handful of times I've been out and about these past weeks, and many times at home, I have had to ask for and accept help. I am not good at either of those things, and have had many opportunities to get better. 

Choose light. This birthday and holiday season has been easier than others, ironically; between Hanukah ending on the winter solstice, to being in a place that experiences more than 300 days of sunshine every year. Each morning on waking, I've stretched into my body, identified discomfort where it exists, and been genuinely happy for the many things that continue to go right. 

Be patient. This is difficult! Whether felled by a flu or foot, one constant is that I am an impatient patient. The doctor has continued to affirm that all I can do, for now, is avoid any pressure on the top half of my right foot as time passes and my bone reconnects and heals itself. Knowing that I should heal completely, without surgery, helps me breathe through the annoyances that I recognize are temporary.

Exude gratitude. From the people who opened a door or slowed down as I hobbled along, to the extended family who offered their arm and brought me water, I have tried to embody and emit the vibration of appreciation that I authentically feel. Finding pleasure in small gestures and passing moments has created more capacity for gratitude, optimism and hope, even as my mobility has become more limited.

Thanks for spending some of your downtime with me, during mine.