Whether yours seemed more serious or less intense, it was still valid.
Your pain is real and your story matters.

Everyone has their “big, hard thing”, wether an injury or another challenge in life, it’s that thing that almost broke them. It’s not about whose was worse, longer, or more dramatic. It’s not a competition. It’s not about comparison at all but how we face this challenge and more so, how we overcome it. 

The moment we stop trying to measure it against anyone else’s, we can fiinally start healing.

I sat alone in a dark hospital room and prayed.
Not a quiet, polite prayer. A desperate one.

Please, God. Please. Please make something good come from this.
I was suffering from the worst pain I could have imagined. If I’m going to suffer like this, let it mean something.

At that point, I had no idea how bad the injury really was. I only knew the pain was so intense it made me vomit and fight the urge to pass out. I didn’t have questions for the doctors or nurses. I didn’t want explanations or reassurance. I had one question: How soon can you get me into surgery?

Before I go any further, I want to say this clearly.
I understand this was not the end of the world. It was not the worst thing that could ever happen to someone, yet at that moment I couldn’t catch my breath from the pain. I had not critical thinking skills and was unable to process what was happening. 

OK, back up. How did it happen? 

On the morning of January 5, 2021, around 8:30 a.m., I left my house like I had countless mornings before. I picked up my Trenta iced coffee, black, from Starbucks and headed to a manicure appointment down a road I’d driven hundreds of times.

In a matter of seconds, so sudden I still can’t fully process it, my life changed.

At a green light, the car in front of me slammed on her brakes to avoid someone cutting into her lane. I slammed on mine. My foot was firmly on the brake when my car hit hers. The impact was enough to shatter the middle of my foot, though I had no idea that was even possible.

What I did know was pain. Immediate, debilitating pain.

It felt like the most violent, unbearable charley horse I’d ever experienced. Like 100 cramps in the center of my foot. My toes were pointed downward, frozen in the position of braking and my midfoot felt locked in place. I didn’t know it yet, but it was locked because the bones were broken.

I couldn’t think clearly. The accident didn’t look severe enough to justify an ambulance, even though the pain was close to making me black out. 

What do I do next?
Why does it hurt this bad?
Is this real?
How can pain be this intense?
Stop asking me questions.
Can someone just help me?
Why does it hurt so bad?

The paramedics examined my foot and tried to move it. They told me to “stretch it out” and handed me an ice pack. I begged them not to touch it. I knew something was very wrong. I had to leave and find real help.

I then strategized.

I called my mom and my husband and assigned roles. My husband would take my car. My mom would take me to urgent care. No one understood the severity of what had happened. I didn’t understand it either.

How could something hurt this much?

Urgent care was packed. I was brought in by wheelchair because I couldn’t put any weight on my foot and as soon as I entered, they closed to new patients and was told no one could come inside with me. It was peak COVID surge from the holidays and I was told the wait would be an hour.

I sat there crying, praying, and calling every foot specialist I could find. I needed help now. After the fourth or fifth call from numbers on google someone finally said, “Come in, they can see you.”

When we arrived, there was no wheelchair. I still couldn’t put my foot down, but shock hit me hard and I though I was going to pass out again. I remember the moment I tried to lower my foot to the ground. The pain exploded through my body. I knew instantly, I could never try that again. My foot couldn’t even touch the floor. I hobbled, sweating, barely holding it together. 

X-rays were taken. The doctor looked at them and said, “it’s dislocated”. Part of me felt relief knowing we were making progress. “Great,” I said, gripping the table. “Pop it back in.”

She looked at me and said, “No. No. You need surgery.”

I couldn’t process much more. It didn’t make sense, but I didn’t care. A surgeon would meet me at the hospital. I needed emergency surgery. The doctor told us to Google “Lisfranc Injury”. 

We went straight to the ER.

And waited.

The hospital was overwhelmed. Post-holiday, post–New Year’s, peak COVID. The accident happened just before 9 a.m. It was now almost 1 p.m. No pain medication. No help. After waiting hours, I asked the front desk if I went out and layed down in the street and call 911would that get me help faster? I was told even patients arriving by ambulance were lining the hallways.

I waited over eight hours with multiple acute fractures across my midfoot and forefoot. Bones broken, joints displaced, my foot essentially collapsing from the inside.

By the time I finally received IV medication, the pain was impossible to get ahead of. I was admitted and although previously told different,vno one could stay with me. Surgery was pushed to the next day. Then the next night.

That night, alone in the hospital room, I prayed.

Please, Lord. Please use this for good. If You can bring something beautiful from this, then let it be worth it.

Things that are meant for harm can be turned into something good. God can take what was intended to break you and turn it into something that builds you, something meaningful, something redemptive, something good.