My leg is officially a stick,calf and thigh-where has the muscle gone?
Day 27 started with a classic “how-do-I-do-basic-life-stuff” moment. I saw an empty toilet roll holder in the shower. Normally: bend, grab, done. Now: strategy meeting. Do I crawl? Balance on the crutch? Roll back in the wheelchair? I paused. I pondered.Seriously this is ridiculous??
Physio’s back, of course. “Titanium” became my new theme song. Three sets of ten exercises. If I were normal, that’d be a warm-up. Post-Achilles rupture? It’s like trying to lift a car with your pinky. Slow progress, but I actually did move. That counts, right?
And then there’s reality: infection, antibiotics, soreness. People ask, “How are things?” and I tell them, and they go, “Oh my God, another thing!” Yep. It doesn’t stop.
But here’s where things got surprisingly beautiful. A work colleague sent the sweetest email: “Be kind to yourself. I’m here if you ever need someone to talk to or vent to without killing your kids.” And it hit me—there are still people out there who would do anything for you. Friends came over too, pastries in hand, laughter in tow. Honestly, they were having more fun than me wobbling about on the knee scooter, but that’s fine. Seeing them, hearing their silly stories, it reminded me: there’s life outside my injury.
Day 28 brought more reflection and tiny wins. I launched the 40 steps a day challenge—sounds tiny, but after crawling around with crutches and a knee scooter, it’s basically an ultra-marathon. Physio again, three sets of ten, and my body reminded me: we’ve moved from survival mode to exercise mode. And yes, it’s grueling. But I’ve run 10Ks, I’ve run half marathons—so I can survive this too.
Funniest moment of the week: I said to my niece, “I can’t wait to see my ankle look like a real ankle again.” She looks at me like I’ve lost it: “But you already have an ankle on the other side, why don’t you just look at that one?” Brutal honesty. Kids don’t care about recovery, they care about logic.
And the weird stuff keeps coming. Two girls on the same football team in Cork did this exact injury a month ago. A 17-year-old soccer star out for a year with an ACL. It’s like a secret club nobody wants to join… but once you’re in, the stories are endless.
Takeaways from this chaos:
- Tiny progress counts 40 steps? Everest. Three sets of exercises? Victory.
- Kindness is contagious. Emails, friends, neighbours—lean on them.
- Laughter heals. Even more than pastries (almost).
- Perspective check: it’s not just about the injury. Life is bigger than your cast, your crutches, or your skinny leg.
So, Days 27 & 28: raw, messy, frustrating, but somehow hilarious. I’m limping, sore, a bit terrified of stairs—but moving. And that’s progress.
